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THE 


epicurean, 

A TALE. 


BY 


THOMAS MOORE. 

» » 




JPijilattelpfjta : 

PUBLISHED AT THE OLIVE-BRANCH BOOK STORE, 
Arcade, No. 32 & 33, 

AND At NO. 4. SOUTH FRONT-STREET. 


1827. 











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TO 

£ORD JOHN HVSSEU 

THIS VOLUME 

IS INSCRIBED, 

BY ONE WHO ADJURES HIS CHARACTER 
AND TALENTS, 

AND IS PROUD QF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 






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A 


LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR, 

FROM 

Esq. 


Cairo, June 19, 1800i 

My dear Sir, 

In a visitl lately paid to the monastery of St. Maca- 
rius, — which is situated, as you know, in the valley of the 
Lakes of Natron, — I was lucky enough to obtain possession 
of a curious Greek manuscript, which, in the hope that you 
may be induced to translate it, I herewith send you. Ob- 
serving one of the monks very busily occupied in tearing 
up, into a variety of fantastic shapes, some papers which 
had the appearance of being the leaves of old books, I in- 
quired of him the meaning of his task, and received the fol- 
lowing explanation. 

The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond of pigeons as the 
ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious notion that, if they 
place in their pigeon-houses small scraps of paper, written 
over with learned characters, the birds are always sure to 
thrive the better for the charm ; and the monks, who are 
never slow in profiting by superstition, have, at all times, a 
supply of such amulets for purchasers. 

In general, the holy fathers have been in the habit of 
scribbling these mystic fragments, themselves ; but a dis- 
covery, which they have lately made, saves them this trou- 
ble, Havijjg dug up (as my informant stated) a chest of 


VI 


old manuscripts, which, being chiefly on the subject of 
alchemy, must have been buried in the time of Dioclesian, 
“we thought we could not,” added the monk, “employ 
such rubbish more properly, than in tearing it up, as you 
see, for the pigeon-houses of the Arabs.” 

On my expressing a wish to rescue some part of these 
treasures from the fate to which his indolent fraternity had 
consigned them, he produced the manuscript which I have 
now the pleasure of sending you, — the only one, he said, 
remaining entire, — and I very readily paid him the price he 
demanded for it. 

You will find the story, I think, not altogether uninterest- 
ing ; and the coincidence, in many respects, of the curious 
details in Chap. VI. with the description of the same cere- 
monies in the Romance of Sethos ,* will, I have no doubt, 
strike you. Hoping that you may be tempted to give a 
translation of this Tale to the world, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Very truly yours, 


* The description, here alluded to, may also be found, copied verbatim 
from Sethos, in “ Voyages d’Antenor.”— “ In that philosophical romance, 
called “ La Vie de Sethos,” says Warburton, “ we find a much juster ac- 
count of old Egyptian wisdom, than in all the pretended ‘ Histoire du 
” JDiv. Leg. book 4. sect. 14. 


THE EPICUREAN 


CHAPTER I. 

It was in the fourth year of the reign of the late 
Emperor Valerian, that the followers of Epicurus, 
who were at that time numerous in Athens, pro- 
ceeded to the election of a person to fill the vacant 
chair of their sect; — and, by the unanimous voice 
of the School, I was the individual chosen for their 
Chief. I was just then entering on my twenty- 
fourth year, and no instance had ever before oc- 
curred, of a person so young being selected for that 
office. Youth, however, and the personal advan- 
tages that adorn it, were not, it may be supposed, 
among the least valid recommendations, to a sect 
that included within its circle all the beauty as 
well as wit of Athens, and which, though dignify- 
ing its pursuits with the name of philosophy, was 
little less than a pretext for the more refined culti- 
vation of pleasure. 

The character of the sect had, indeed, much 
changed, since the time of its wise and virtuous 
founder, who, while he asserted that pleasure is 
the only good, inculcated also that good is the only 
source of pleasure. The purer part of this doc- 
trine had long evaporated, and the temperate Epi- 
curus would have as little recognized his own sect 
in the assemblage of refined voluptuaries who now 


Usurped its name, as he would have known his o\vn 
quiet Garden in the luxurious groves and bowers 
among which the meetings of the School were now 
held. 

Many causes, beside the attractiveness of its 
doctrines, concurred, at this period, to render our 
school the most popular of any that still survived 
the glory of Greece. It may generally be observed, 
that the prevalence, in one half of a community, of 
very rigid notions on the subject of religion, pro- 
duces the opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity 
in the other; and this kind of reaction it was that 
now mainly contributed to render the doctrines of 
the Garden the most fashionable philosophy of the 
day. The rapid progress of the Christian faith 
had alarmed all those, who, either from piety or 
worldliness, were interested in the continuance of 
the old established creed — all who believed in the 
Deities of Olympus, and all who lived by them. 
The consequence was, a considerable increase of 
zeal, and activity, throughout the constituted au- 
thorities and priesthood of the whole Heathen 
world. What was wanting in sincerity of belief 
wus made lip in rigour; — the weakest parts of the 
Mythology were those, of course, most angrily de- 
fended, and any reflections, tending to bring Sa- 
tu .™» his wife Ops, into contempt, were punished 
with the utmost severity of the law. 

In this state of affairs, between the alarmed bi- 
gotry of the declining Faith, and the simple, sub- 
lime austerity of her rival, it was not wonderful 
that those lovers of ease and pleasure, who had no 
interest, reversionary or otherwise, in the old re- 
ligion, and were too indolent to inquire into the 
sanctions of the new, should take refuge from the 
severities of both under the shelter of a luxurious 


9 


philosophy, which, leaving to others the task of 
disputing about the future, centered all its wisdom 
in the full enjoyment of the present. 

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever since the 
death of their founder, been accustomed to dedi- 
cate to his memory the twentieth day of every 
month. To these monthly rites had, for some 
time, been added a grand annual Festival, in com- 
memoration of his birth. The feasts, given on this 
occasion by my predecessors in the Chair, had been 
invariably distinguished for their taste and splen- 
dour; and it was my ambition, not merely to imi- 
tate this example, but even to render the anniver- 
sary, now celebrated under my auspices, so bril- 
liant, as to efface the recollection of all that went 
before it. 

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed such a 
scene. The grounds that formed the original site 
of the Garden had, from time to time, received con- 
siderable additions; and the whole extent was laid 
out with that perfect taste, which knows how to 
wed Nature to Art, without sacrificing her simpli- 
city to the alliance. Walks, leading through wil- 
dernesses of shade and fragrance — glades, opening, 
as if to afford a play-ground for the sunshine — tem- 
ples, rising on the very spots where imagination 
herself would have called them up, and fountains 
and lakes, in alternate motion and repose, either 
wantonly courting the verdure, or calmly sleeping 
in its embrace, — such was the variety of feature 
that diversified these fair gardens; and, animated 
as they were on this occasion, by all the living wit 
and loveliness of Athens, it afforded a scene such 
as my own youthful fancy, rich as it was then in 
images of luxury and beauty, could hardly have 
anticipated. 


10 


The ceremonies of the day began with the very 
dawn, when, according to the form ot simpler and 
better times, those among the disciples who had 
apartments within the Garden, bore the images of 
our Founder in procession from chamber to cham- 
ber, chanting verses in praise of — what had long 
ceased to be objects of our imitation — his frugality 
and temperance. 

Round a beautiful lake, in the centre of the gar- 
den, stood four white Doric temples, in one ot 
which was collected a library, containing all the 
flowers of Grecian literature; while, in the re- 
maining three, Conversation, the Song, and the 
Dance, held, uninterrupted by each other, their 
respective rites. In the Library stood busts of all 
the most illustrious Epicureans, both of Rome and 
Greece — Horace, Atticus, Pliny the elder, the 
poet Lucretius, Lucian, and the biographer of the 
Philosophers, lately lost to us, Diogenes Laertius. 
There were also the portraits,. in marble, of all the 
eminent female votaries of the school — Leontium 
and her fair daughter Danae, Themista, Philamis, 
and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of Heresiarch, 
on the morning of the Festival, I received the feli- 
citations of the day from some of the fairest lips of 
Athens; and, in pronouncing the customary ora- 
tion to the memory of our Master, (in which it was 
usual to dwell on the doctrines he inculcated) 
endeavoured to attain that art, so useful before 
such an audience, of diffusing over the gravest 
subjects a charm, which secures them listeners 
even among the simplest and most volatile. 

Though study, as may easily be supposed, em- 
grossed but little of the mornings of the Garden, 
yet the lighter part of learning,— -that portion Ot 1 


11 


its attic honey, for which the bee is not obliged to 
go very deep into the flower— was zealously culti- 
vated. Even here, however, the student had to 
encounter distractions, which are, of all others, 
least favourable to composure of thought; and, 
with more than one of my fair disciples, mere used 
to occur such scenes as the following, which a poet 
of the Garden, taking Ms picture from the life de- 
scribed: 


“ As o’er the lake, in evening’s glow, 

That temple threw its lengthening shade, 

Upon the marble steps below, 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 

Gracefully o’er some volume bending ; 

While, by her side, the youthful Sage 
Held back her ringlets, lest, descending, 

They should o’er-shadow all the page,” 

But it was for the evening of that day, that the 
richest of our luxuries were reserved. Every part 
of the Garden was illuminated, with the most skil- 
ful variety of lustre; while over the Lake of the 
Temples were scattered wreaths of flowers, through 
which boats, tilled with beautiful children, floated, 
as through a liquid parterre. 

Between two of these boats a perpetual combat 
was maintained; — their respective commanders, 
two blooming youths, being habited to represent 
Eros and Anteros; the former, the Celestial Love 
of the Platonists, and the latter, that more earthly 
spirit, which usurps the name of Love among the 
Epicureans. Throughout the evening their con- 
flict was carried on with various success; the timid 
distance at which Eros kept from his more lively 
antagonist being his only safeguard against those 
darts of fire, with showers of which the other coir- 


tinually assailed him, but which, luckily falling 
short of their mark upon the lake, only scorched 
the flowers upon which they fell, and were extin- 
guished. 

In another part of the gardens, on a wide ver- 
dant glade, lighted only by the moon, an imitation 
of the torch-race of Panathenaea was performed, 
by young boys chosen for their fleetness, and ar- 
rayed with wings, like Cupids 5 while, not far off, 
a group of seven nymphs, with each a star on her 
forehead, represented the movements of the plane- 
tary choir, and embodied the dream of Pythagoras 
into real motion and song. 

At every turning some new enchantment broke 
upon the ear or eye. Sometimes, from the depth 
of a grove, from which a fountain at the same time 
issued, there came a strain of music, which, ming- 
ling with the murmur of the water, seemed like 
the voice of the spirit that presided over its flow; 
— while sometimes the strain rose breathing from 
among flowers; and, again, would appear to come 
suddenly from under ground, as if the foot had 
just touched some spring that set it in motion. 

It seems strange that I should now dwell upon, 
these minute descriptions; but every thing con- 
nected with that memorable night — even its long- 
repented follies — must forever live sacredly in my 
memory. The festival concluded with a banquet, 
at which I, of course, presided; and, feeling my- 
self to be the ascendant spirit of the whole scene, 
gave life to all around me, and saw my own hap- 
piness reflected in that of others. 


13 


CHAP. II. 

The festival was over; — the sounds of the song 
and dance had ceased, and I was now left in those 
luxurious gardens, alone. Though so ardent and 
active a votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a 
disposition full of melancholy; — an imagination 
that presented sad thoughts, even in the midst of 
mirth and happiness, and threw the shadow of the 
future over the gayest illusions of the present. 
Melancholy was, indeed, twin-born in my soul 
with Passion; and, not even in the fullest fervour 
of the latter, were they separated. From the first 
moment that I was conscious of thought and feeling* 
the same dark thread had run across the web; and 
images of death and annihilation mingled them- 
selves with the most smiling scenes through which 
my career of enjoyment led me. My very passion 
for pleasure but deepened these gloomy fancies. 
For, shut out, as I was by my creed, from a future 
life, and having no hope beyond the narrow horizon 
of this, every minute of delight, assumed a mourn- 
ful preciousness in my eyes, and pleasure, like the 
flower of the cemetery, grew but more luxuriant 
from the neighbourhood of death. 

This very night my triumph, my happiness had 
seemed complete. I had b^en the presiding genius 
of that voluptuous scene. Both my ambition and 
my love of pleasure had drunk deep of the cup for 
which they thirsted. Looked up to by the learned, 
and loved by the beautiful and the young, I had 
seen, in every eye that met mine, either the ac- 
knowledgment of triumphs already won, or the 
promise of others, still brighter, that awaited me. 
Yet, even in the midst of all this, the same dark 

B 


14 


thoughts had presented themselves;— the perisha- 
bleness of myself and all around me every instant 
recurred to my mind. Those hands I haaprest — 
those eyes, in which I had seen sparkling, a spirit 
of light and life that should never die — those 
voices, that had talked of eternal love — all, all, I 
felt, were but a mockery of the moment, and 
would leave nothing eternal but the silence of 
their dust! 

Oh, were it not for this sad voice, 

Stealing amid our mirth to say. 

That all, in which we must rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey; — 

But for this bitter — only this — 

Full as the world is brimm’d with bliss, 

And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its depth the whole, 

I should turn earth to heaven, and be, 

If bliss made gods, a deity! 

Such was the description I gave of my own feel- 
ings, in one of those wild, passionate songs, to 
which this ferment of my spirits, between mirth 
and melancholy, gave birth. 

Seldom had my heart more fully abandoned itself 
to such vague sadness than at the present moment, 
when, as I paced thoughtfully among the fading 
lights and flowers of the banquet, the echo of my 
own step was all that sounded, where so many gay 
forms had lately been revelling. The moon was 
still up, the morning had not yet glimmered, and 
the calm glories of night still rested on all around. 
Unconscious whither my pathway led, I wandered 
along, till I, at length, found myself before that 
fair statue of Venus, with which the chisel of Al- 
camenes had embellished our Garden; — that image 
of deified woman, the only idol to which I had ever 


15 


bent the knee. Leaning against the pedestal, i 
raised my eyes to heaven, and fixing them sadly 
and intently on the ever-burning stars, as if I 
sought to read the mournful secret in their light, 
asked, wherefore was it that Man alone must 
perish, while they, less wonderful, less glorious 
than he, lived on in light unchangeable and for- 
ever! — “Oh, that there were some spell, some 
talisman, ” I exclaimed, “to make the spirit within 
us deathless as those stars, and open to its desires 
a career like theirs, burning and boundless through- 
out all time!” 

While I gave myself up to this train of thought, 
that lassitude which earthly pleasure, however 
sweet, leaves behind, — as if to show how earthly 
it is, — came drowsily over me, and I sunk at the 
base of the statue to sleep. 

Even in sleep, however, my fancy was still 
busy; and a dream, so vivid as to leave behind it 
the impression of reality, thus passed through my 
mind. I thought myself transported to a wide 
desert plain, where nothing seemed to breathe, or 
move, or live. The very sky above it looked pale 
and extinct, giving the idea, not of darkness, but 
of light that had died; and, had that region been 
the remains of some older world, left broken up 
and sunless, it could not have looked more dead 
and desolate. The only thing that bespoke life, in 
this melancholy waste, was a small moving spark, 
that at first glimmered in the distance, but, at 
length, slowly approached the spot where I stood. 
As it drew nearer, I could perceive that its feeble 
gleam was from a taper in the hand of a pale vene- 
rable man, who now stood, like a messenger from 
the grave, before me. After a few moments of 
'awful silence, during which he looked at me with » 


16 


sadness that thrilled my very soul, lie said, — 
“Thou, who seekest eternal life, go unto the 
shores of the dark Nile — go unto the shores of the 
dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life thou 
seekest!” 

No sooner had he said these words than the 
death-like hue of his cheek brightened into a smile 
of more than human promise. The small torch 
that he held sent forth a radiance, by which sud- 
denly the whole surface of the desert was illumi- 
nated, even to the fair horizon’s edge, along whose 
line were now seen gardens, palaces, anti spires, 
all bright and golden, like the architecture of the 
clouds at sunset. Sweet music, too, was heard 
every where, floating around, and, from all sides, 
such varieties of splendour poured, that, with the 
excess both of harmony and of light, I woke. 

That infidels should be superstitious is an ano- 
maly neither unusual nor strange. A belief in 
superhuman agency seems natural and necessary 
to the mind ; and, if not suffered to flow in the ob- 
vious channels, it will find a vent in some other. 
Hence, many who have doubted the existence of a 
God, have yet implicitly placed themselves under 
the patronage of Fate or the stars. Much the same 
inconsistency I was conscious of in my own feel- 
ings. Though rejecting all belief in a Divine Pro- 
vidence, I had yet a faith in dreams, that all my 
philosophy could not conquer. Nor was experi- 
ence wanting to confirm me in my delusion; for, 
by some of those accidental coincidences, which 
make the fortune of soothsayers and prophets, 
dreams, more than once, had been to me 

Oracles, truer far than oak. 

Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 


if 

It was not wonderful, therefore, that the vision of 
that night, touching, as it did, a chord so ready to 
vibrate, should have affected me with more than 
ordinary power, and sunk deeper into my memory 
with every effort I made to forget it. In vain did 
I mock at my own weakness; — such self-derision is 
seldom sincere. In vain did I pursue my accus- 
tomed pleasures. Their zest was, as usual, for- 
ever new; but still came the saddening conscious- 
ness of mortality, and, with it, the recollection of 
this visionary promise, to which my fancy, in de- 
fiance of my reason, still clung. 

Sometimes indulging in reveries, that were little 
else than a continuation of my dream, I even con- 
templated the possible existence of some secret, by 
which youth might be, if not, perpetuated, at least 
prolonged, and that dreadful vicinity of death, 
within whose circle love pines and pleasure sickens, 
might be for a while averted. 44 Who knows,” 
I would ask, “but that in Egypt, that land of 
wonders, where Mystery hath yet unfolded but 
half her treasures, — where so many dark secrets 
of the antediluvian world still remain, undecipher- 
ed, upon the pillars of Seth* — who knows but some 
charm, some amulet, may lie hid, whose discovery, 
as this phantom hath promised, but waits my com- 
ing — some compound of the same pure atoms, that 
scintillate in the eternal stars, and whose infusion 
into the frame of man might make him, too, fade- 
less and immortal!” 

Thus did I fondly speculate, in those rambling 
moods, when the life of excitement which I led, 
acting upon a warm heart and vivid fancy, pro- 
duced an intoxication of spirit, during which I was 
not wholly myself. This bewilderment, too, was 
not a little increased by the constant struggle be- 
b 2 


18 


tween my own natural feelings, and the cold, mor- 
tal creed of my sect, in endeavouring to escape 
from whose deadening bondage I but broke loose 
into the realms of romance and fantasy. 

Even, however, in my calmest and soberest mo- 
ments, that strange vision perpetually haunted me. 
In vain were all my efforts to chase it from my 
mind; and the deliberate conclusion to which I 
came at last, was, that without, at (east, a visit to 
Egypt, I could not rest, nor, till convinced of my 
folly by disappointment, be reasonable. I, there- 
fore, announced without delay to m^ associates of 
the Garden, the intention which I liad formed to 
pay a visit to the land of Pyramids, To none of 
them did I dare to confess the vague, visionary im- 
pulse that actuated me. Knowledge was the ob- 
ject that I alleged, while Pleasure was that for 
which they gave me credit. The iiterests of the 
School, it was apprehended, would suffer by my 
absence; and there were some tenderer ties, which 
had still more to fear from separation. But for 
the former inconvenience a temporary remedy was 
provided; while the latter a skilful distribution of 
vows and sighs alleviated. Being furnished with 
recommendatory letters to all parts of Egypt, in 
the summer of the year 257, A. D. I set sail for 
Alexandria. 


CHAP. III. 

To one, who extracted such sweets from every 
moment on land, a sea-voyage, however smooth 
and favourable, appeared the least agreeable mode 
of losing time that could be devised. Often did 


19 


my imagination, in passing some isle of those seas, 
people it with fair forms and kind hearts, to whom 
most willingly, if I might, would I have paused 
to pay homage. But the wind blew direct towards 
the land of Mystery ; and, still more, I heard a 
voice within me, whispering for ever “On.” 

As we approached the coast of Egypt, our course 
became less prosperous ; and we had a specimen 
of the benevolence of the divinities of the Nile, 
in the shape of a storm, or rather whirlwind, 
which had nearly sunk our vessel, and which, the 
Egyptians on board said, was the work of their 
God, Typhon. After a day and night of danger, 
during which we were driven out of our course to 
the eastward, some benigner influence prevailed 
above ; and, at length, as the morning freshly 
broke, we saw the beautiful city of Alexandria 
rising from the sea, with its Palace of Kings, its 

f )ortico of four hundred columns, and the fair Pil- 
ar of Pillars, towering up to heaven in the midst. 

After passing in review this splendid vision, we 
shot rapidly round the Rock of Pharos, and, in a 
few minutes, found ourselves in the harbour of Eu- 
nostus. The sun had risen, but the light on the 
Great Tower of the Rock was still burning ; and 
there was a languor in the first waking move- 
ments of that voluptuous city — whose houses and 
temples lay shining in silence round the harbour — * 
that sufficiently attested the festivities of the pre- 
ceding night. 

We were soon landed on the quay; and, as I 
walked, through a line of palaces and shrines, up 
the street which leads from the sea to the Gate of 
Canopus, fresh as I was from the contemplation 
of my own lovely Athens, I felt a glow of admira- 
tion at the scene around me, which its novelty. 


20 


even more than its magnificence, inspired. Nor 
were the luxuries and delights, which such a city 
promised, among the least of the considerations 
on which my fancy, at that moment, dwelt On 
the contrary, every thing around seemed prophetic 
of future pleasure. The very forms of the archi- 
tecture, to my Epicurean imagination, appeared 
to call up images of living grace; and even the 
dim seclusion of the temples and groves spoke only 
of tender mysteries to my mind. As the whole 
bright scene grew animated around me, I felt that 
though Egypt might not enable me to lengthen 
life, she could teach the next best art, that of mul- 
tiplying its enjoyments. 

The population of Alexandria, at this period, 
consists of the most motley miscellany of nations, 
religions, and sects, that had ever been brought 
together in one city. Besides the school of the 
Grecian Platonist, was seen the oratory of the ca- 
balistic Jew; while the church of the Christian 
stood, undisturbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian 
Hierophant. Here, the adorer of Fire, from the 
east, laughed at the superstition of the worshipper 
ot cats, from the w T est. Here Christianity, too, 
unluckily had learned to emulate the vagaries of 
Paganism; and while, on one side, her Ophite pro- 
fessor was seen kneeling down gravely before his 
serpent, on the other, a Nicosian was, as gravely, 
contending that there w r as no chance of salvation 
out of the pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, 
the uncharitableness of Christian schism was al- 
ready distinguishing itself wifh equal vigour; and 
I heard of nothing, on my arrival, but the rancour 
and hate, with which the Greek and Latin church- 
men persecuted each other, because, forsooth, the. 


21 


one fasted on the seventh day of the week, and 
the others fasted upon the fourth and sixth! 

To none of those religions or sects, however, 
except for purposes of ridicule, did I pay much 
attention. I was now in the most luxurious city 
of the universe, and gave way without reserve, to 
the seductions that surrounded me. My reputation, 
as a philosopher and a man of pleasure, had pre- 
ceded me ; and Alexandria, the second Athens of 
the world, welcomed me as her own. My cele- 
brity, indeed, was as a talisman, that opened 
hearts and doors at my approach. The usual no- 
viciate of acquaintance was dispensed with in my 
favour, and not only intimacies, but loves and 
friendships, ripened in my path, as rapidly as ve- 
getation springs up where the Nile has flowed. 
The dark beauty of the Egyptian women had a 
novelty in my eyes that enhanced its other charms ; 
and that hue of the sun on their rounded cheeks, 
was but an earnest of the ardour he had kindled 
in their hearts — 

Th’ imbrowning of the fruit, that tells 

How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 

Some weeks rolled on in such perpetual and 
ever-changing pleasures, that even the melancholy 
voice in my heart, though it still spoke, was but 
seldom listened to, and soon died away in the 
sound of the siren songs that surrounded me. At 
length, however, as the novelty of these scenes 
wore olf, the same gloomy bodings began to min- 
gle with all my joys ; and an incident that oc- 
curred during one of my gayest revels, conduced 
still more to deepen their gloom. 

The celebration of the annual festival of Serapis 


took place during my stay, and I was, more than 
once, induced to mfngle with the gay multitudes, 
that crowded to his shrine at Canopus on the occa- 
sion. Day and night, while this festival lasted, 
the canal, which led from Alexandria to Canopus, 
was covered with boats full of pilgrims of both 
sexes, all hastening to avail themselves of this 
pious license, which lent the zest of a religious 
sanction to pleasure, and gave a holiday to the 
passions of earth, in honour of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexandria. 
The north wind, that welcome visiter, freshened 
the air, while the banks, on either side, sent forth, 
from groves of orange and henna, the most deli- 
cious odours. As I had left all the crowd behind 
me at Canopus, there was not a boat to be seen on 
the canal but my own; and 1 was just yielding to 
the thoughts which solitude at such an hour in- 
spires, when my reveries were broken by the sound 
of some female voices, coming, mingled with laugh- 
ter and screams, from the garden of a pavilion, that 
stood, brilliantly illuminated, upon the bank of the 
canal. 

On rowing nearer, I perceived that both the mirth 
and the alarm had been caused by the efforts of 
some playful girls to reach a hedge of jasmin which 
grew near the water, and in bending towards which, 
they had nearly fallen into the stream. Hastening 
to proffer my assistance, I soon recognized the 
voice of one of my fair Alexandrian friends, and, 
springing on the bank, was surrounded by the 
whole group, who insisted on my joining their party 
in the pavilion, and flinging the tendrils of jasmin, 
which they had just plucked, around me, led me, 
jio unwilling captive, to the banquet-room. 

J found here an assemblage of the very flower 


of Alexandrian society. The unexpectedness of 
the meeting gave it an additional zest on both sides 5 
and seldom had I felt more enlivened myself, or 
contributed more successfully to circulate life 
among others. 

Among the company were some Greek women, 
who, according to the fashion of their country, 
wore veils; but, as usual, rather to set oft* than con- 
ceal their beauty, some gleams of which were con- 
tinually escaping from under the cloud. There 
was, however, one female, who particularly at- 
tracted my attention, on whose head was a chaplet 
of dark-coloured flowers, and who sat veiled and 
silent during the whole of the banquet. She took 
no share, I observed, in what was passing around: 
the viands and the wine went by her untouched, 
nor did a word that was spoken seem addressed to 
her ear. This abstraction from a scene so spark- 
ling with gaiety, though apparently unnoticed by 
any one but myself, struck me as mysterious and 
strange. I inquired of my fair neighbour the cause 
of it, but she looked grave and was silent. 

In the mean time, the lyre and the cup went 
round; and a young maid from Athens, as if in- 
spired by the presence of her countryman, took 
her lute, and sung to it some of the songs of Greece, 
with a feeling that bore me back to the banks of 
the Illissus, and, even in the bosom of present plea- 
sure, drew a sigh from my heart for that which had 
passed away. It was day -break ere our delighted 
party rose, and unwillingly re-embarked to return 
to the city. 

Scarcely were we afloat, when it was discovered 
that the lute of the young Athenian had been left 
behind; and, with my heart still full of its sweet 
sounds, I most readily sprung on shore to seek it. 


24 


I hastened to the banquet-room, which was now 
dim and solitary, except that — there, to my 
astonishment, still sat that silent figure, which 
had awakened my curiosity so strongly during the 
night. A vague feeling of awe came over me, as 
I now slowly approached it. There was no mo- 
tion, no sound of breathing in that form; — not a 
leaf of the dark chaplet on its brow stirred. By 
the light of a dying lamp which stood before the 
figure, I raised, with a hesitating hand, the veil, 
and saw — what my fancy had already anticipated 
— that the shape underneath was lifeless, was a 
skeleton! Startled and shocked, I hurried back 
with the lute to the boat, and was almost as silent 
as that shape for the remainder of the voyage. 

This custom among the Egyptians of placing a 
mummy, or skeleton, at the banquet-table, had 
been for some time disused, except at particular 
ceremonies; and, even on such occasions, it had 
been the practice of the luxurious Alexandrians to 
disguise this memorial of mortality in the manner 
just described. But to me, who was wholly un- 
prepared for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from 
which my imagination did not speedily recover. 
This silent and ghastly witness of mirth seemed to 
embody, as it were, the shadow in my own heart. 
The features of the grave were now stamped on the 
idea that haunted me, and this picture of what I 
was to be mingled itself with the sunniest aspect 
of what I was. 

The memory of the dream now recurred to me 
more lively than ever. The bright assuring smile 
of that venerable Spirit, and his words, “ Go to the 
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eter- 
nal life thou seekest,” were forever before my 
mind. But as yet, alas, I had done nothing towards 


25 


realizing this splendid promise. Alexandria was not 
Egjpt? — the very soil on which I stood was notin 
existence, when Thebes and Memphis already 
counted ages of glory. 

4 ■ It is beneath the Pyramids of Memphis,” I 
exclaimed, “or in the mystic Halls of the Laby- 
rinth, that I must seek those holy arcana of science, 
of which the antediluvian world has made Egypt 
its heir, and among which — blest thought! — the 
key to eternal life may lie.” 

Having formed my determination, I took leave 
of my many Alexandrian friends, and departed for 
Memphis. 


CHAP. IV. 

Egypt was the country, of all others, from that 
mixture of the melancholy and the voluptuous, 
which marked the character of her people, her reli- 
gion, and her scenery, to affect deeply a tempera- 
ment and fancy like mine, and keep tremblingly 
alive the sensibilities of both. Wherever I turned, 
I saw the desert and the garden, mingling their 
bloom and desolation together. I saw the love- 
bower and the tomb standing side by side, and 
pleasure and death keeping hourly watch upon each 
other. In the very luxury of the climate there was 
the same saddening influence. The monotonous 
splendour of the days, the solemn radiance of the 
nights — all tended to cherish that ardent melan- 
choly, the offspring of passion and of thought, which 
had so long been the inmate of my soul. 

When 1 sailed from Alexandria, the inundation 
of the Nile was at its full. The whole valley of 
c 


Egypt lay covered by its flood; and, as 1 saw 
around me, in the light of the setting sun, shrines, 
palaces, and monuments, encircled by the waters, 
I could almost fancy that I beheld the solitary island 
of Atalantis, on the last evening its temples were 
visible above the wave. Such varieties, too, of 
animation as presented themselves on every side ! — 

While, far as sight can reach, beneath as clear 
And blue a heaven as ever bless’d this sphere, 

Gardens, and pillar’d streets, and porphyry domes, 

And high-built temples, fit to be the wines 
Of mighty gods, and pyramids, whose hour 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make 
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake, 

Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives 
Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 

Here, up the steps of temples, from the wave 
Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 

Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred wands 
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands : 

While, there, rich barks — fresh from those sunny tracts 
Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts — 

Glide with their precious lading to the sea. 

Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros’ ivory, 

Gems from the isle of Meroe, and those grains 
Of gold, wash’d down by Abyssinian rains. 

Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way 
To Sa'is or Bubastus, among beds 
Of lotus-flowers, that close above their heads, 

Push their light barks, and hid, as in a bower, 

Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour ; 

While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 
Is play’d in the cool current by a train 
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 
Around two conquerors of the world was cast. 

But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 


Enchanted with the whole scene, I lingered on 
my voyage, visiting all those luxurious and venera- 
ble places, whose names have been consecrated by 
the wonder of ages. At Sai's I was present during 
her Festival of Lamps, and read, by the blaze of 
innumerable lights, those sublime words on the 
temple of Neitha: 66 I am all that has been, that is, 
and that will be, and no man hath ever lifted my 
veil,” I wandered among the prostrate obelisks 
of Heliopolis, and saw, not without a sigh, the sun 
smiling over her ruins, as if in mockery of the mass 
of perishable grandeur, that had once called itself, 
in its pride, 4 4 The City of the Sun.” But to the 
Isle of the Golden Venus was my fondest pilgrim- 
age; — and as I explored its shades, where bowers 
are the only temples, I felt how far more fit to form 
the shrine of a Deity, are the ever-living stems of 
the garden and the grove, than the most precious 
columns that the inanimate quarry can supply. 

Every where new pleasures, new interests 
awaited me; and though Melancholy, as usual, 
stood always near, her shadow fell but half-way 
over my vagrant path, and left the rest more wel- 
comely brilliant from the contrast. To relate my 
various adventures, during this short voyage, 
would only detain me from events, far, far more 
worthy of record. Amidst such endless variety of 
attractions, the great object of my journey was for- 
gotten; — the mysteries of this land of the sun were, 
to me, as much mysteries as ever, and I had as yet 
been initiated in nothing but its pleasures. 

It was not till that evening, when I first stood 
before the Pyramids of Memphis, and saw them 
towering aloft, like the watch-towers of Time, from 
whose summit, w r hen he expires, he will look his 
ash; — it was not till this moment that the great? 


28 


secret, of which I had dreamed, again rose, in ail 
its inscrutable darkness, upon my thoughts. There 
was a solemnity in the sunshine that rested upon 
those monuments — a stillness, as of reverence, in 
the air around them, that stole, like the music of 
past times, into my heart. I thought what myriads 
of the wise, the beautiful, and the brave, had sunk 
into dust since earth first beheld those wonders; 
and, in the sadness of my soul, I exclaimed, — 
“ Must man alone, then, perish? must minds and 
hearts be annihilated, while pyramids endure? 
Death, Death, even on these everlasting tablets, — 
the only approach to immortality that kings them- 
selves could purchase, — thou hast written our doom, 
saying, awfully and intelligibly, 4 There is, for man, 
no eternal mansion, but the tomb!’” 

My heart sunk at the thought; and, for the mo- 
ment, I yielded to that desolate feeling, which 
overspreads the soul that hath no light from the 
future. But again the buoyancy of my nature pre- 
vailed, and again, the willing dupe of vain dreams, 
I deluded myself into the belief of all that I most 
wished, with that happy facility which makes im- 
agination stand in place of happiness. “Yes,” I 
cried, “immortality must be within man’s reach; 
and, as wisdom alone is worthy of such a blessing, 
to the wise alone must the secret have been re- 
vealed. Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, 
has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, 
on which the Thrice-Great Hermes engraved, be- 
fore the flood, the secret of Alchemy, that gives 
gold a t will. Why may not the mightier, the more 
god-like secret, that gives life at wdl, be recorded 
there also? It was by the power of gold, of endless 
gold, that the kings, who repose in those massy 
structures, scooped earth to the centre, and raised 


23 

quarries into the air, to provide themselves with, 
tombs that might outstand the world. Who can 
tell but that the gift of immortality was also theirs? 
who knows but that they themselves, triumphant 
over decay, still live — those mansions, which we 
call tombs, being rich and everlasting palaces, 
within whose depths, concealed from this wither- 
ing world, they still wander, with the few who are 
sharers of their gift, through a sunless, but illumi- 
nated, elysium of their own? Else, wherefore those 
structures? wherefore that subterraneous realm, by 
which the whole valley of Egypt is undermined"? 
Why, else, those labyrinths, which none of earth 
hath ever beheld — which none of heaven, except 
that Grod, with the finger on his hushed lip, hath 
trodden!” 

While I indulged in these dreams, the sun, half 
sunk beneath the horizon, was taking, calmly and 
gloriously, his leave of the Pyramids, — as he had 
done, evening after evening, forages, till they had 
become familiar to him as the earth itself. On the 
side turned to his ray they now presented a front 
of dazzling whiteness, while, on the other, their 
great shadows, lengthening to the eastward, looked 
like the first steps of Night, hastening to envelope 
the hills of Araby in her shade. 

No sooner had the last gleam of the sun disap- 
peared,. than, on every house-top in Memphis, gay, 

f ilded banners were seen waving aloft, to proclaim 
is setting, — while a full burst of harmony pealed 
from all the temples along the shores. 

Startled from my musing by these sounds, I at 
once recollected, that, on that very evening, the 
great festival of the Moon was to be celebrated. 
On a little island, half-way over between the gar- 


30 


dens of Memphis and the eastern shore, stood the 
temple of that goddess, 

Whose beams 

Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams. 

Not the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins ; 

But she, who haunts the gay, Bubastian grove, 

And owns she sees, from her bright heav’n above, 
Nothing on earth, to match that heav’n but love ! 

Thus, did I exclaim, in the words of one of their 
own Egyptian poets, as, anticipating the various 
delights of the festival, I cast away from my mind 
all gloomy thoughts, and, hastening to my little 
bark, in which I now lived, like a Nile-bird, on 
the waters, steered my course to the island-temple 
of the Moon. 


CHAP. y. 

The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as 
if conscious of the honours that awaited her upon 
earth, was welcomed with a loud acclaim from 
every eminence, where multitudes stood watching 
for her first light. And seldom had she risen 
upon a scene more beautiful. Memphis, — still 
grand, though no longer the unrivalled Memphis, 
that had borne away from Thebes the crown of 
supremacy, and worn it undisputed through so 
many centuries, — now, softened by the moonlight 
that harmonised with her decline, shone forth 
among her lakes, her pyramids, and her shrines, 
like a dream of glory that was soon to pass away. 
Kuin, even now, was but too visible around her 


31 


The sands of the Libyan desert gained upon her 
like a sea; and, among solitary columns and 
sphinxes, already half sunk from sight, Time 
seemed to stand waiting, till all, that now flourish- 
ed around, should fall beneath his desolating hand, 
like the rest. 

On the waters all was life and gaiety. As far 
as eye could reach, the lights of innumerable boats 
were seen, studding, like rubies, the surface of 
the stream. Vessels of all kinds, — from the light 
coracle, built for shooting down the cataracts, to 
the large yacht that glides to the sound of flutes, 
— all were afloat for- this sacred festival, filled 
with crowds of the young and the gay, not only 
from Memphis and Babylon, but from cities still 
farther removed from the scene. 

As I approached the island, I could see, glit- 
tering through the trees on the bank, the lamps of 
the pdgrims hastening to the ceremony. Landing 
. in the direction which those lights pointed out, I 
soon joined the crowd ; and passing through a 
long alley of sphinxes, whose spangling marble 
shone out from the dark sycamores around them, 
in a short time reached the grand vestibule of the 
temple, where I found the ceremonies of the even- 
ing already commenced. 

In this vast hall, which was surrounded by a 
double range of columns, and lay open over-head 
to the stars of heaven, I saw a group of young 
maidens, moving in a sort of measured step, be- 
tween walk and dance, round a small shrine, upon 
which stood one of those sacred birds, that, on ac- 
count of the variegated colour of their wings, are 
dedicated to the moon. The vestibule was dimly 
lighted, — there being but one lamp of naphtha on 
each of the great pillars that encircled it. But, 


having taken my station, beside one of those pil- 
lars, I had a distinct view of the young dancers, as 
in succession they passed me. 

Their long, graceful drapery was as white as 
snow; and each wore loosely, beneath the rounded 
bosom, a dark-blue zone, or bandelet, studded, 
like the skies at midnight, with little silver stars. 
Through their dark locks was wreathed the white 
lily of the Nile, — that flower being accounted as 
welcome to the moon, as the golden blossoms of 
the bean-flower are to the sun. As they passed 
under the lamp, a gleam of light flashed from their 
bosoms, which, I could perceive, was the reflec- 
tion of a small mirror, that, in the manner of the 
women of the East, each wore beneath her left 
shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their steps: but, as 
they gracefully went round the bird on the shrine, 
some, by the beat of the castanet, some, by the 
shrill ring of the sistrum, — which they held up- 
lifted in the attitude of their own divine Isis, — 
harmoniously timed the cadence of their feet; 
while others, at every step, shook a small chain of 
silver, whose sound, mingling with those of the 
castanets and sistrums, produced a wild, but not 
an unpleasing harmony. 

They seemed all lovely; but there was one—- 
whose face the light had not yet reached, so down- 
cast she held it, — who attracted, and, at length, 
riveted all my attention. 1 knew not why, but 
there was a something in those half-seen features; 
— a charm in the very shadow, that hung over 
their imagined beauty, — which" took me more than 
all the out-shining loveliness of her companions. 
So enchained was my fancy by this coy mystery, 
fRat her atone, of alt the group, could I eitlnA see 


33 


or think of— -her alone I watched, as, with the 
same downcast brow, she glided round the altar, 
gently and aerially, as if her presence, like that of 
a spirit, was something to be felt, not seen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud crash of a 
thousand cymbals was heard; — the massy gates of 
the Temple flew open, as if by magic, and a flood 
of radiance from the illuminated aisle tilled the 
whole vestibule; while, at the same instant, as if 
the light and the sounds were borne together, a 
peal of rich harmony came mingling with the ra- 
diance. 

It was then, — by that light, which shone full 
upon the young maiden’s features, as, starting at 
the blaze, she raised her eyes to the portal, and, 
as suddenly, let fall their lids again, — it was then 
I beheld, what even my own ardent imagination, 
in its most vivid dreams of beauty, had never pic- 
tured. Not Psyche herself, when pausing on the 
threshold of heaven, while its first glories fell on 
her dazzled lids, could have looked more beautiful, 
or blushed with a more innocent shame. Often as 
I had felt the power of looks, none had ever en- 
tered into my soul so far. It was a new feeling— 
a new sense — coming as suddenly as that radiance 
into the vestibule, and, at once, filling my whole 
being;— and had that vision but lingered another 
moment before my eyes, I should have wholly 
forgotten who I was and where, and thrown 
myself, in prostrate adoration, at her feet. 

But scarcely had that gush of harmony been 
heard, when the sacred bird, which had, till now, 
stood motionless as an image, expanded his wings, 
and flew into the Temple; while his graceful young 
worshippers, with a fleetness like his own, follow- 
ed, — and she, who had left a dream in my heart 


34 


never to be forgotten, vanished with the rest. As 
she went rapidly past the pillar against which I 
leaned, the ivy that encircled it caught in her dra- 
pery, and disengaged some ornament which fell to 
the ground. It was the small mirror which I had 
seen shining on her bosom. Hastily and tremu- 
lously I picked it up, and hurried to restore it: — 
but she was already lost to my eyes in the crowd. 

In vain I tried to follow; — the aisles were al- 
ready fdled, and numbers of eager pilgrims’ pressed 
towards the portal. But the servants of the Tem- 
ple prevented all further entrance, and still, as I 
presented myself, their white wands barred the 
way. Perplexed and irritated amid that crowd 
of laces, regarding all as enemies that impeded my 
progress, I Stood on tiptoe, gazing into the busy 
aisles, and with a heart beating as I caught, from 
time to time, a glimpse of spangled zone, or lotus 
wreath, which led me to fancy that I had discover- 
ed the object of my search. But it was all in vain; 
* — in every direction, files of sacred nymphs were 
moving, but nowhere could I see her, whom alone 
I sought. 

In this state of breathless agitation did I stand 
for some time, -—bewildered with the confusion of 
laces and lights, as w r ell as with the clouds of in- 
cense that rolled around me, — till, fevered and im- 
patient, I could endure it no longer. Forcing my 
way out of the vestibule into the cool air, I hurried 
back through the alley of sphinxes to the shore, and 
flung myself into my boat. 

There is, to the north of Memphis, a solitary 
lake (which, at this season of the year, mingles 
with the rest of the waters,) upon whose shores 
stands the Necropolis, or City of the Dead — -a 
place of melancholy grandeur, Covered over with 


sluines and pyramids, where many a kingly head, 
proud even in death, has for ages awaited the re- 
surrection of its glories. Through a range of se- 
pulchral grots underneath, the humbler denizens 
of the tomb are deposited, — looking out on each 
successive generation that visits them, with the 
i same face and features they wore centuries ago. 

: Every plant and tree, that is consecrated to death, 
from the asphodel -flower to the mystic plantain, 
lends its sweetness or shadow to this place of 
I tombs; and the only noise that disturbs its eternal 
calm, is the low humming sound of the priests at 
prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to the 
silent city. 

It was towards this place of death that, in a 



The form of the young Priestess was continually 
before me. That one bright look of hers, the very 
memory of which was worth all the actual smiles 
of others, never left my mind. Absorbed in such 
thoughts, I rowed on, scarce knowing whither I 
went, till, startled by finding myself within the 
shadow of the City of the Dead, i looked up, and 
saw, rising in succession before me, pyramid be- 
yond pyramid, each towering more loftily than the 
other, — while all were out-topped in grandeur by 
one, upon whose summit the moon seemed to rest, 
as on a pedestal. 

Drawing near to the shore, which was sufficient- 
ly elevated to raise this city of monuments above 
the level of the inundation, I lifted my oar, and let 
the boat rock idly on the water, while my thoughts, 
left equally without direction, fluctuated as idly. 
How various and vague were the dreams that then 
passed through my mind — that bright vision of the 


36 


temple mingling itself with all! Sometimes she 
stood before me like an aerial spirit, as pure as if 
that element of music and light, into which I had 
seen her vanish, was her only dwelling. Some- j 
times, animated with passion, and kindling into a 
creature of earth, she seemed to lean towards me 
with looks of tenderness, which it were worth 
worlds, but for one instant, to inspire; and again — 
as the dark fancies, that ever haunted me, recur- 
red — I saw her cold, parched, and blackening, 
amid the gloom of those eternal sepulchres before 
me! 

Turning away with a shudder, from the cemetry 
at this thought, I heard the sound of an oar apply- 
ing swiftly through the water, and, in a few mo- 
ments, saw, shooting past me towards the shore, a 
small boat in which sat two female figures, muffled 
up and veiled. Having landed them not far from 
the spot where I lay, — concealed by the shadow 
of a monument on the bank, — the boat again de- 
parted, with the same fleetness, over the flood. 

Never had the prospect of an adventure come 
more welcome than at this moment, when my fancy 
was weaving such chains for my heart, as threat- 
ened a bondage, of all others, the most difficult to 
break. To become enamoured thus of a creature 
of my own imagination, was the worst, because the 
most lasting of follies. Reality alone gives a 
chance of dissolving such spells, and the idol I was 
now creating to myself must forever remain ideal. 
Any pursuit, therefore, that seemed likely to di- 
vert me from such thoughts — to bring back my im- 
agination to earth and reality, from the vague re- 
gion in which it was wandering, was a relief too 
seasonable not to be welcomed with eagerness. 

I had watched the course which the two figures 


S.rNy 


took, and, having hastily fastened my boat to the 
bank, stepped gently on shore, and, at a little dis- 
tance, followed them. The windings through which 
they led were intricate; but, by the bright light of 
the moon, I was enabled to keep their forms in 
view, as, with rapid step, they glided among the 
monuments. At length, in the shade of a small 
pyramid, whose peak barely surmounted the plane- 
trees that grew nigh, they vanished from my sight. 
I hastened to the spot, but there was not a sign of 
life around; and had my creed extended to an- 
other world, I might have fancied that these forms 
were spirits, sent from thence to mock me, — so in- 
stantaneously they disappeared. I searched through 
the neighbouring grove, but all there was still as 
death. At length, in examining one of the sides 
of the pyramid, which, for a few feet from the 
ground, was furnished with steps, I found, midway 
between peak and base, a part of the surface, 
which, though presenting an appearance of smooth- 
ness to the eye, gave to the touch, I thought, indi- 
cations of a concealed opening. 

After a variety of efforts and experiments, I, at 
last, more by accident than skill, pressed the 
spring that commanded this mysterious aperture. 
In an instant the portal slid aside, and disclosed a 
narrow stair-way within, the two or three first 
steps of which were discernible by the moonlight, 
while the rest were lost in utter darkness. Though 
it was difficult to conceive that the persons whom 
I had followed would have ventured to pass through 
this gloomy opening, yet to account for their dis- 
appearance otherwise, was still more difficult. At 
all events, my curiosity was now too eager in the 
chase to relinquish it; — the spirit of adventure, 
once raised, could not be so easily laid. Accord - 

D 


38 


ingly, having sent up a gay prayer to that bliss- 
loving Queen, whose eye alone was upon me, I 
passed through the portal and descended into the 
pyramid. 

CHAP. VI. 

At the bottom of the stair-way I found myself 
in a low, narrow passage, through which, without 
stooping almost to earth, it was impossible to pro- 
ceed. Though leading through a multiplicity of 
dark windings, this way seemed but little to ad- 
vance my progress, — its course, I perceived, be- 
ing chiefly circular, and gathering, at every turn, 
but a deeper intensity of darkness. 

“ Can this,” I thought, “be the sojourn of any 
thing human?” — and had scarcely asked myself 
the question, when the path opened into a long 
gallery, at the farthest end of which a gleam of 
light was visible. This welcome glimmer appear- 
ed to come from some cell or alcove, in which the 
right hand wall of the gallery terminated, and, 
breathless with expectation, I stole gently to- 
wards it. 

Arrived at the end of the gallery, a scene pre- 
sented itself to my eyes, for which my fondest ex- 
pectations of adventure could not have prepared 
me. The place from which the light proceeded 
was a small chapel, of whose interior, from the 
dark recess in which I stood, I had, unseen my- 
self, a full and distant view. Over the walls of 
this oratory were painted some of those various 
symbols, by which the mystic wisdom of the Egyp- 
tians loves to shadow out the History of the Soul— 


the winged globe with a serpent, — the rays de- 
scending from above, like a glory, and the Theban 
beetle, as he comes forth, after the waters have 
passed away, and the first sunbeam falls on his re- 
generated wings. 

In the middle of the chapel stood a low altar of 
granite, on which lay a lifeless female form, en- 
shrined within a case of crystal, — as they preserve 
their dead in Ethiopia, — and looking as freshly 
beautiful as if the soul had but a few hours de- 
parted. Among the emblems of death, on the 
front of the altar, were a slender lotus-branch, bro- 
ken in two, and a bird, just winging its flight from 
the spray. 

To these memorials of the dead, however, I but 
little attended; for there was a living object there 
upon which my eyes were most intently fixed. 

The lamp, by which the whole of the chapel was 
illuminated, was placed at the head of the pale 
image in the shrine; and, between its light and me, 
stood a female form, bending over the monument, 
as if to gaze upon the silent features within The 
position in which this figure was placed, intercept- 
ing a strong light, afforded me, at first, but an im- 
perfect and shadowy view of it. Yet even at this 
mere outline my heart beat high, — and memory, 
as it proved, had as much share in this feeling as 
imagination. For, on the head changing its posi- 
tion, so as to let a gleam fall on the features, I saw 
with a transport, which had almost led me to be- 
tray my lurking-place, that it was she — the young 
worshipper of Isis — the same, the very same, whom 
I had seen, brightening the holy place where she 
stood, and looking like an inhabitant of some purer 
world. 

The movement, by which she had now given me 


40 


an opportunity of recognizing her, was made in 
raising from the shrine a small cross* of silver, 
which lay directly over the bosom of the lifeless 
figure. Bringing it close to her lips, she kissed it 
with a religious fervour; then, turning her eyes 
mournfully upwards, held them fixed with an in- 
spired earnestness, as if, at that moment, in direct 
communion with heaven, they saw neither roof, nor 
any other earthly barrier between them and the 
skies. 

What a power hath innocence, whose very help- 
lessness is its safeguard — in whose presence even 
Passion himself stands abashed, and turns wor- 
shipper at the altar which he came to despoil. She, 
who, but a short hour before, had presented her- 
self to my imagination, as something I could have 
risked immortality to win — she, whom gladly, from 
the floor of her own lighted temple, in the very face 
of its proud ministers, I would have borne away in 
triumph, and defied all punishments, both human 
and sacred, to make her mine, — she was now be- 
fore me, thrown, as if by fate itself, into my power 
— standing there, beautiful and alone, with nothing 
but her innocence for her guard! Yet, no — so 
touching was the purity of the whole scene, so 
calm and august that protection which the dead 
seemed to extend over the living, that every earth- 
lier feeling was forgotten as I gazed, and love 
itself became exalted into reverence. 

Entranced, indeed, as I felt in witnessing such 
a scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth, seemed a wrong, 
a sacrilege — and, rather than let her eyes meet the 
flash of mine, or disturb, by a whisper, that sacred 

* A cross was, among the Egyptians, the emblem of a 
fniure life. 


41 


silence, in which Youth and Death held communion 
through Love, I would have let my heart break, 
without a murmur, where I stood. Gently, as if 
life depended upon every movement, 1 stole away 
from that tranquil and holy scene — leaving it still 
tranquil and holy as I found it — and, gliding back 
through the same passages and windings by which 
I had entered, regained the narrow stair-way, and 
again ascended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and, from the summit of 
the Arabian hills, was pouring down his beams into 
that vast valley of waters, — as if proud of the 
homage that had been paid to his own Isis, now 
fading away in the superior light of her Lord. My 
first impulse was to fly from this dangerous spot, 
and in new loves and pleasures seek forgetfulness 
of the scene which I had witnessed. “Once out 
of the circle of this enchantment,” I exclaimed, 
“ I know my own susceptibility to new impres- 
sions too well, to doubt that I shall soon break 
the spell that is around me. ” 

But vain were my efforts and resolves. Even 
while I swore to fly, my steps were still lingering 
round the pyramid — my eyes still turned towards 
the secret portal, which severed this enchantress 
from the world of the living. Hour after hour did 
I wander through that City of Silence, — till, al- 
ready, it was noon, and, under the sun’s meridian 
eye, the mighty pyramid of pyramids stood, like a 
great spirit, shadowless. 

Again did those wild and passionate feelings, 
which had, for a moment, been subdued into reve- 
rence by her presence, return to kindle up my 
imagination and senses. I even reproached myself 
for the awe, that had held me spell-bound before 
her. “ What would my companions of the Gar- 
d 2 


42 


x 

den say, did they know that their chief,— he, whose 
path Love had strewed with trophies — was now 
pining for a simple Egyptian girl, in whose pre- 
sence he had not dared to give utterance to a sigh, 
and who had vanquished the victor, without even 
knowing her triumph!” 

A blush came over my cheek at the humiliating 
thought, and my determination was fixed to await 
her coming. That she should be an inmate of those 
gloomy caverns seemed inconceivable^ nor did 
there appear to be any issue from their depths but 
by the pyramid. Again, therefore, like a sentinel 
of the dead, did I pace up and down among these 
tombs, contrasting, in many a mournful reflection, 
the burning fever within my own veins with the 
cold quiet of those who slept around. 

At length the fierce glow of the sun over my 
head, and, still more, that ever restless agitation 
in my heart, were too much for even strength like 
mine to bear. Exhausted, I lay down at the base 
of the pyramid — placing myself directly under the 
portal, where, even should slumber surprise me, 
my heart, if not my ear, might still be on the watch, 
and her footstep, light as it was, could not fail to 
awake me. 

^ After many an ineffectual struggle against drow- 
siness, I at length sunk into sleep — but not into 
forgetfulness. The same image still haunted me, 
in every variety of shape, with which imagination, 
assisted by memory, could invest it. Now, like 
Ne'itha, upon her throne at Sais, she seemed to sit, 
with the veil just raised from that brow, which 
mortal had never, till then, beheld,— and now, 
like the beautiful enchantress Rhodope, I saw her 
rise out of the pyramid in which she had dwelt for 
ages,— 


43 


“Fair Rhodope, as story tells, 

The bright, unearthly nymph, who dwells 
Mid sunless gold and jewels hid, 

The Lady of the Pyramid 1” 


So long, amid that unbroken silence, did my 
sleep continue, that I found the moon again shin- 
ing above the horizon, when I awoke. All around 
was §ilent and lifeless as before, nor did a print 
upon the herbage betray that any foot had passed 
it since my own. Refreshed by rest, and with a 
fancy still more excited by the mystic wonders of 
which I had been dreaming, I now resolved to re- 
visit the chapel in the pyramid, and put an end, 
if possible, to this illusion that haunted me. 

Having learned from the experience of the pre- 
ceding night, the inconvenience of encountering 
those labyrinths without a light, I now hastened 
to provide myself with a lamp from my boat. 
Tracking my way back with some difficulty to the 
shore, I there found, not only my lamp, but some 
dates and dried fruits, with a store of which, for 
my roving life upon the waters, I was always sup- 
plied, — and which now, after so many hours of 
abstinence, were a welcome and necessary relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, 
and was proceeding to search out the secret spring, 
when a loud, dismal noise was heard at a distance, 
to which all the echoes of the cemetery answered. 
It came, I knew, from the Great Temple on the 
shore of the Lake, and was the shriek which its 
gates — the Gates of Oblivion, as they were called 
— sent forth from their hinges, in opening at night, 
to receive within their precincts the newly-landed 
dead. 

I had heard that sound before, and always with 


44 


sadness; but, at this moment, it thrilled through 
me, like a voice of ill omen, and I almost doubted 
whether I should not abandon my enterprise. The 
hesitation, however, was but momentary; — even 
while it passed through my mind, I had touched 
the spring of the portal. In a few seconds more, 

I was again in the passage beneath the pyramid, 
and being enabled by my lamp to follow me wind- 
ings of the way more rapidly, soon found myself 
at the door of the small chapel in the gallery. 

I entered, still awed, though there was now no- 
thing living within. The young Priestess had fled 
— had vanished, like a spirit, into the darkness. 
All the rest was as I had left it on the preceding 
night. The lamp still stood burning upon the 
crystal shrine — the cross lay where the hands of 
the young mourner had placed it, and the cold 
image beneath wore the same tranquil look, as if 
resigned to the solitude of death — of all lone things 
the loneliest. Remembering the lips that I had 
seen kiss that cross, and kindling with the recol- 
lection, I raised it passionately to my own; — but, : 
at the same moment, I fancied the dead eyes met 
mine, and, saddened in the midst of my ardour, I 
replaced the cross upon the shrine. 

I had now lost all clue to the object of my pur- 
suit, and was preparing slowly to retrace my steps ' 
to earth, with that gloomy satisfaction which cer- 
tainty, even when unwelcome, brings, — when, as 
I held forth my lamp, on leaving the chapel, I 
could perceive that the gallery, instead of termi- 
nating here, took a sudden bend to the left, which 
had before eluded my eye, and which gave a pro- 
mise of leading still further into those recesses. 
Re-animated by this discovery, which opened a 
new source of hope to my heart, I cast but one 




45 


hesitating look at my lamp, as if to ask whether it 
would be faithful through the gloom I was about 
to encounter, and without further thought, rushed 
eagerly forward. 


CHAP. VII 

The path led, for some time, through the same 
sort of narrow winding as those which I had en- 
countered in descending the stair-way; and at 
length opened, in a smilar manner, into a straight 
and steep gallery, along each side of which stood, 
closely ranged and upright, a file of lifeless bodies, 
whose glassy eyes threw a preternatural glare upon 
me as I passed. 

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my 
hopes a second time vanish. The path, I per- 
ceived, extended no further. The only object 
that I could discern, by the glimmering of my 
lamp, which now, every minute, burned fainter 
and fainter, was the mouth of a huge well, that 
lay gaping before me — a reservoir of darkness, 
black and unfathomable. It now crossed my 
memory that I had heard of such wells, as being 
used occasionally for passages by the Priests. 
Leaning down, therefore, over the edge, I looked 
anxiously within, to discover whether it was pos- 
sible to descend into the chasm; but the sides 
were hard and smooth as glass, being varnished 
all over with that dark pitch, which the Dead Sea 
throws out on its slimy shore. 

After a more attentive scrutiny, however, I ob- 
served, at the depth of a few feet, a sort of iron 
step, projecting dimly from the side, and, below 


46 


it, another, which, though hardly perceptible, was 
just sufficient to encourage an adventurous foot 
to the trial. Though all hope of tracing the young 
Priestess was at an end, — it being impossible the 
female foot should have dared this descent, — yet, 
as I had so far engaged in the adventure, and 
there was, at least, a mystery to be unravelled, I 
determined, at all hazards, to explore the chasm. 
Placing my lamp, (which was hollowed at the bot- 
tom, so as to fit like a helmet) firmly on my head, 
and having thus both hands at liberty for exertion, 
I set my foot cautiously on the iron step, and de- 
scended into the well. 

I found the same footing, at regular intervals, 
to a considerable depth; and had already counted 
near a hundred of these steps, when the ladder 
altogether ceased, and I could descend no further. 
In vain did I stretch down my foot in search ot 
support — the hard, slippery sides were all that it 
encountered. At length, stooping my head, so as 
to let the light fall below, I observed an opening 
or window directly above the step on which I 
stood, and, taking for granted that the way must 
lie in that direction, with some little difficulty 
clambered through the aperture. 

I now found myself on a rude and narrow stair- 
way, the steps of which were cut out of the living 
rock, and wound spirally downward in the same 
direction as the well. Almost dizzy with the 
descent, which seemed as if it would never end, 
I, at last, reached the bottom, where a pair of 
massy iron gates closed directly across my path, 
as if to forbid any further progress. Massy, how- 
ever, and gigantic as they were, I found to my 
surprise, that the hand of an infant might have 




47 


opened them with ease — so readily did their great 
folds give way to my touch, 

“Light as a lime-bush, that receives 
Some wandering bird among its leaves.” 

No sooner, however, had I passed through, than 
the din, with which the gates clashed together 
again, was such as might have awakened death 
itself. It seemed as if every echo, throughout 
that vast subterranean world, from the Catacombs 
of Alexandria to Thebes’s Valley of Kings, had 
caught up and repeated the thundering sound. 

Startled, however, as I was, not even this su- 
pernatural clangour could divert my attention from 
the light that now broke upon me — soft, warm, 
and welcome as are the stars of his own South to the 
mariner who has been wandering through the seas 
of the north. Looking for the source of this 
splendour, I saw, through an archway opposite, a 
long illuminated alley, stretching away, as far as 
the eye could reach, and fenced on one side, with 
thickets of odoriferous shrubs, while, along the 
other, extended a line of lofty arcades, from which 
the light that filled the whole area, issued. As 
soon, too, as the din of the deep echoes had sub- 
sided, there stole gradually on my ear a strain of 
choral music, which appeared to come, mellowed 
and sweetened in its passage, through many a spa- 
cious hall within those shining arcades. Among 
the voices I could distinguish some female tones, 
towering high and clear over all the rest, and 
forming the spire, as it were, into which the har- 
mony tapered, as it rose. 

So excited was my fancy by this sudden en- 
chantment, that — though never had I caught a 




48 


sound from the young Egyptian’s lips, — I yet per- 
suaded myself that the voice I now heard was 
hers, sounding highest and most heavenly of all 
that choir, and calling to me, like a distant spirit 
out of its sphere. Animated by this thought, I 
flew forward to the archway, but found to my mor- 
tification, that it was guarded by a trellis-work, 
whose bars, though invisible at a distance, resist- 
ed all my efforts to force them. 

While occupied in these ineffectual struggles, I 
perceived, to the left of the archway, a dark, ca- 
vernous opening, which seemed to lead in a direc- 
tion parallel to the lighted arcades. Notwith- 
standing my impatience, however, the aspect of 
this passage, as I looked shudderingly into it, 
chilled ihy very blood. It was not so much dark- 
ness, as a sort of livid and ghastly twilight, from 
which a damp, like that of death-vaults, exhaled, 
and through which, if n.y eyes did not deceive me, 
pale, phantom-like shapes were, at that very mo- 
ment, hovering. 

Looking anxiously round, to discover some less 
formidable outlet, I saw, over the vast folding-gates 
through which I had just passed, a blue, tremulous 
flame, which, after playing for a few seconds over 
the dark ground of the pediment, settled gradually 
into characters of light, and formed the following 
words: — 

You, who would try 
Yon terrible track, 

To live, or to die, 

But ne’er to look back — 

You, who aspire 
To be purified there, 

By the terrors of Fire* 
f)f Water, and Air,— 


49 


If danger, and pain, 

And death you despise, 

On — for again 

Into light you shall rise ; 

Rise into light 

With that Secret Divine, 

Now shrouded from sight 
By the Veils of the Shrine ! 

But if 

Here the letters faded away into a dead blank, 
more awfully intelligible than the most eloquent 
words. 

A new hope now flashed across me. The dream 
of the Garden, which had been for some time al- 
most forgotten, returned to my mind. “Am I 
then,” I exclaimed, “in the path to the promised 
mystery? and shall the great secret of Eternal 
Life indeed be mine?” 

“Yes!” seemed to answer, out of the air, that 
spirit-voice, which still was heard crowning the 
choir with its single sweetness. I hailed the omen 
with transport. Love and Immortality, both beck- 
oning me onward — who could give a thought to 
fear, with two such bright hopes in view? Having 
invoked and blessed that unknown enchantress, 
whose steps had led me to this abode of mystery 
and knowledge, I plunged into the chasm. 

Instead of mat vague, spectral twilight which had 
at first met my eye, I now found, as I entered, a 
thick darkness, which, though far less horrible, 
was, at this moment, still more disconcerting, as 
my tamp, which had been, for some time, almost 
useless, was fast expiring. Resolved, however, to 
make the most of its last gleam, I hastened, with 
rapid step, through this gloomy region, which 

E 


50 


Seemed wider and more open to the air than any 
that I had yet passed. Nor was it long before the 
appearance of a bright blaze in the distance, an- 
nounced to me that my first great Trial was at 
hand. As I drew nearer, the flames burst high 
and wide on all sides ; — and the spectacle that now 
presented itself, was such as might have appalled 
even hearts more habituated to dangers than mine. 

There lay before me, extending completely 
across my path, a thicket, or grove of the most 
combustible trees of Egypt — tamarind, pine, and 
Arabian balm. Around their stems and branches 
were coiled serpents of fire, which, twisting them- 
selves rapidly from bough to bough, spread their 
own wild-fire as they went, and involved tree after 
tree in one general blaze. It was, indeed, rapid 
as the burning of those reed-beds of Ethiopia, whose 
light brightens, at night, the distant cataracts of 
the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing grove, I per- 
ceived, my only pathway lay. There was not a 
moment to be lost — the conflagration gained rapidly 
on either side, and already the narrowing path be- 
tween was strewed with fire. Casting away my 
now useless lamp, and holding my robe as some 
protection over my head, with a tremor, I own, in 
every limb, I ventured through the blaze. 

Instantly, as if my presence had given new life 
to the flames, a fresh outbreak of combustion arose 
on all sides. The trees clustered into a bower of 
fire above my head, while the serpents, that hung 
hissing from the red branches, shot showers of spar- 
kles down upon me, as I passed. Never were de- 
cision and activity more serviceable; — one minute 
later, and I must have perished. The narrow 
opening, of which I had so promptly availed my- 


51 


\ 

self, closed instantly behind me; and, as I looked 
back, to contemplate the ordeal which I had pass- 
ed, 1 saw that the whole grove was already one 
mass of fire. 

Happy at having escaped this first trial, I pluck- 
ed from one of the pine-trees a bough that was 
but just kindled, and, with this for my only 
guide, hastened breathlessly forward. I had gone 
but a few paces, when the path turned suddenly 
olf, — leading downwards, as I could see by the 
glimmer of my brand, into a more confined space, 
through which a chilling air, as if from some neigh- 
bouring waters, blew over my brow. Nor had I 
proceeded very far, when the sound of torrents 
fell on my ear, — mingled, as I thought, from time 
to time, with shrill wailings, like the cries of per- 
sons in danger or distress. At every step the noise 
of the dashing waters increased, and I now per- 
ceived that I had entered an immense rocky ca- 
vern, through the middle of which, headlong as a 
winter torrent, the flood, to whose roar I had been 
listening, rushed. Upon its surface, too, there 
floated strange, spectre-like shapes, which, as they 
went by, sent forth those dismal shrieks, as if in 
fear of some precipice to whose brink they were 
hurrying. 

I saw too plainly that my course must be across 
that torrent. It was fearful; but in courage lay 
my only hope. What awaited me on the opposite 
shore, I knew not; for all there was wrapped in 
impenetrable gloom, nor could the weak light I 
held reach half so far. Dismissing, however, all 
thoughts but that of pressing onward, I sprung 
from the rock on which I stood into the flood, — 
trusting that, with my right hand, I should be able 
to bullet the current, while, with the other, I 


52 


might contrive to hold my brand aloft, as long as 
a glimmer of it remained, to guide me to the shore. 

Long and formidable was the struggle I had to 
maintain. More than once, overpowered by the 
rush of the waters, I had almost given myself up, 
as destined to follow those apparitions, that still 
passed me, hurrying, with mournful cries, to their 
doom in some invisible gulf before them. 

At length, just as my strength was nearly ex- 
hausted, and the last remains of the pine-branch 
were falling from my hand, I saw, outstretching 
towards me into the water, a light double balus- 
trade, with a flight of steps between, ascending, 
almost perpendicularly, from the wave, till they 
seemed lost in a dense mass of clouds above. This 
glimpse — for it was no more, as my light expired 
in giving it — lent new spring to my courage. Hav- 
ing now both hands at liberty, so desperate were 
my efforts, that after a few minutes’ struggle, I 
felt my brow strike against the stair-way, and, in 
an instant more, my feet were on the steps. 

Rejoiced at my rescue from that perilous flood, 
though I knew not whither the stair-way led, I 
promptly ascended it. But this feeling of confi- 
dence was of short duration. I had not mounted 
far, when, to my horror, I perceived, that each 
successive step, as my foot left it, broke away from 
beneath me, — leaving me in mid-air, with no other 
alternative than that of mounting still by the same 
momentary footing, and with the dreadful doubt 
whether it would even endure my tread. 

And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue to 
ascend, with nothing beneath me but that awful 
river, in which — so tranquil it had become — I 
could hear the plash of the falling fragments, as 
every step in succession gave way under my feet. 


53 


It was a trying moment, but still worse remained, 
I now found the balustrade, by which I had held 
during my ascent, and which had hitherto seemed 
firm, grow tremulous in my hand, — while the step 
to which I was about to trust myself, tottered un- 
der my foot. Just then, a momentary flash, as if 
of lightning, broke around, and I saw, hanging, 
out of the clouds, within my reach, a huge brazen 
ring. Instinctively I stretched forth my arm to 
seize it, and, at the same instant, both balustrade 
and steps gave way beneath me, and I was left 
swinging by my hands in the dark void. # As if, 
too, mis massy ring, which I grasped, was by some 
magic power linked with all the winds in heaven, 
no sooner had I seized it than, like the touching 
of a spring, it seemed to give loose to every variety 
of gusts and tempests, that ever strewed the sea- 
shore with wrecks or dead; and, as I swung about, 
the sport of this elemental strife, each new burst 
of its fury threatened to shiver me, like a storm- 
sail, to atoms ! 

Nor was even this the worst; — still holding, 
I know not how, by the ring, I felt myself caught 
up, as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and round and 
round, like a stone-shot in a sling, whirled in the 
midst of all this deafening chaos, till my brain 
grew dizzy, and my recollection confuseu, and I 
almost fancied myself on that wheel of the infer- 
nal world, whose rotations, it is said, Eternity 
alone can number! 

Human strength could no longer sustain such a 
trial. I was on the point, at last, of loosing my 
hold, when suddenly the violence of the storm 
moderated; — my whirl through the air gradually 
ceased, and I felt the ring slowly descend with 
me, till — happy as a shipwrecked mariner at the 
e 2 


54 


first touch of land — I found my feet once more 
upon firm ground. 

At the same moment, a light of the most deli- 
cious softness filled the whole air. Music, such 
as is heard in dreams, came floating at a distance; 
and, as my eyes gradually recovered their powers 
of vision, a scene of glory was revealed to them, 
almost too bright for imagination, and yet living 
and real. As far as the sight could reach, en- 
chanting gardens were seen, opening awqy through }, 
long tracts of light and verdure, and sparkling f 
every .where with fountains, that circulated, like ” 
streams of life, among tlie flowers. Not a charm 
was here wanting, that the imagination of poet or , 
prophet, in their pictures of Elysium, ever yet j 
dreamed or promised. Vistas, opening into scenes j 
of indistinct grandeur, — streams, shining out at 
intervals, in their shadowy course — and labyrinths 
of flowers, leading, by mysterious windings, to j 
green, spacious glades, full of splendour and re- 
pose. Over all this, too, there fell a light, from 
some unseen source, resembling nothing that il- 
lumines our upper world — a sort, of golden moon- \ 
light, mingling the warm radiance of day with the 1 
calm and melancholy lustre of night. 

Nor were there wanting inhabitants for this 
sunless Paradise. Through all the bright gardens j 
were wandering, with the serene air and step of : 
happy spirits, groups both of young and old, of ;! 
venerable and of lovely forms, bearing, most of 
them, the Nile’s white flowers on their heads, and 
branches of the eternal palm in their hands; while, 
over the verdant turf, fair children and maidens 
went dancing to aerial music, whose source was, \ 
like that of the light, invisible, but which filled i 
the whole air with its mystic sweetness. 


55 

Exhausted as I was by the trials 1 had under- 
gone, no sooner .did I perceive those fair groups 
in the distance, than my weariness, both of frame 
and spirit was forgotten. A thought crossed me 
that sne, whom I sought, might be among them; 
and, notwithstanding the awe, with which that 
unearthly scene inspired me, I was about to fly, 
on the instant, to ascertain my hope. But in the 
act of making the effort, I felt my robe gently 
pulled, and turning, beheld an aged man before 
me, whom, by the sacred hue of his*garb, I knew 
to be a Hierophant. Placing a branch of the con- 
secrated palm in my hand, he said, in a solemn 
voice, “Aspirant of the Mysteries, welcome!” — 
then, regarding me for a few seconds with grave 
attention, added, in a tone of courteousness and 
interest, “ The victory over the body hath been 
gained ! — Follow me, young Greek, to thy resting 
place.” 

I obeyed in silence, — and the Priest, turning 
away from this scene of splendour, into a secluded 
path, where the light, faded away, as we advanced, 
conducted me to a small pavilion, by the side of 
a whispering stream, where the very spirit of 
slumber seemed to preside, and pointing to a bed 
of dried poppy-leaves within it, left me to repose. 


CHAP. VIII. 

Though the sight of that splendid scene which 
opened upon me, like a momentary glimpse into 
another world, had, for an instant, re-animated my 
strength and spirit, so completely had fatigue over- 
mastered my whole frame, that, even had the form 


56 


of the young Priestess stood before me, my limbs 
would have sunk in the effort to reach her. No 
sooner had I fallen on my leafy couch, than sleep, 
like a sudden death, came over me; and I lay, for 
hours, in the deep, and motionless rest, which not 
even a shadow of life disturbs. 

On awaking I saw, beside me, the same venera- 
ble personage, who had welcomed me to this sub- 
terranean world on the preceding night. At the 
foot of my couch stood a statue, of Grecian work- 
manship, representing a boy, with wings, seated 

f racefully, on a lotus-flower, and having the fore- 
nger of his right hand pressed to his lips. This 
action, together with the glory round his brows, 
denoted, as I already knew, the God of Silence 
and Light. 

Impatient to know what further trials awaited 
me, I was about to speak, when the Priest ex- 
claimed, anxiously, “Hush!” — and, pointing to 
this statue at the foot of the couch, said — “Let 
the spell of that Spirit be on thy lips, young 
stranger, till the wisdom of thy instructors shall 
think fit to remove it. Not unaptly doth the same 
god preside over Silence and Light; since it is 
only out of the depth of contemplative silence, 
that the great light of the soul, Truth, arises!” 

Little used to the language of dictation or in- 
struction, I was now preparing to rise, when the 
priest again restrained me; and, at the same mo- 
ment, two boys, beautiful as the young Genii of the 
stars, entered the pavilion. They were habited in 
long garments of the purest white, and bore each 
a small golden chalice in his hand. Advancing 
towards me, they stopped on opposite sides of the 
couch, and one of them, presenting to me his cha- 


57 


lice of gold, said, in a tone between singing and 
speaking, — 

* Drink of this clip — Osiris sips 
The same in his halls below ; 

And the same he gives, to cool the lips 
Of the Dead, who downward go. 

44 Drink of this cup — the water within 
Is fresh from Lethe’s stream ; 

’Twill make the past with all its sin, 

And all its pain and sorrows, seem 
Like a long-forgotten dream ! 

41 The pleasure, whose charms 
Are steep’d in wo ; 

The knowledge, that harms 
The soul to know ; 

41 The hope, that, bright 
As the lake of the waste, 

Allures the sight, 

But mocks the taste ; 

44 The love, that binds 
Its innocent wreath, 

Where the serpent winds, 

In venom, beneath ; — 

44 All that, of evil or false, by thee 

Hath ever been known or seen, 

Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it never had been !” 

Unwilling to throw a slight on this strange cere- 
mony, I leaned forward, with all due gravity, and 
tasted the cup; which I had no sooner done than 
the young cup-bearer, on the other side, invited 
my attention, and, in his turn, presenting the cha- 


58 


lice which he held, sung, with a voice still sweeter 
than that of his companion, the following strain: — 

“ Drink of this cup — when Isis led 
Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky. 

She mingled a draught divine, and said — 

‘ Drink of this cup, thou’lt never die I*. 

« Thus do I say and sing to thee, 

Heir of that boundless heav’n on high, 

Though frail, and fall’n, and lost thou be, 

Drink of this cup, thou’lt never die 1” 

Much as I had endeavoured to keep my philoso- 
phy on its guard, against the illusions with which, 
1 knew, this region abounded, the young cup-bearer 
had here touched a spring of imagination, over , 
which, as has been seen, my philosophy had but 
little control. No sooner had the words, “ thou 
shalt never die,” struck on my ear, than the dream 
of the Garden came fully to my mind, and, start- 
ing half-way from the couch, I stretched forth my 
hands to the cup. Recollecting myself, however, 
and fearful of having betrayed to others a weak- 
ness only fit for my own secret indulgence, with 
an affected smile of indifference I sunk back again 
on my couch, — while the young minstrel, but lit- 
tle interrupted by my movement, still continued 
his strain, of which I heard but the concluding 
words: — 

“ And Memory, too, with her dreams shall come. 
Dreams of a former, happier day, 

When Heaven was still the Spirit’s home. 

And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 

“ Glimpses of glory ne’er forgot, 

That tell, like gleams on a sunset sea, * 


59 


What once hath been, what now is not, 

But, oh, what again shall brightly be 1” 

Though the assurances of immortality, con- 
tained in these verses, would, at any other mo- 
ment, — vain and visionary as I thought them, — 
have sent my fancy wandering into reveries of the 
future, the effort of self-control I had just made 
enabled me to hear them with indifference. 

Having gone through the form of tasting this 
second cup, I again looked anxiously to the Hiero- 
phant, to ascertain whether I might be permitted 
to rise. His assent having been given, the young 
pages brought to my couch a robe and tunic, which, 
like their own, were of linen of the purest white; 
and having assisted to clothe me in this sacred 
garb, they then placed upon my head a chaplet of 
myrtle, in which the symbol of Initiation, a gol- 
den grashopper, was seen shining out from among 
the dark leaves. 

Though sleep had done much to refresh my 
frame, something more was still wanting to restore 
its strength; and it was not without a smile at my 
own reveries I reflected, how much more welcome 
than the young page’s cup of immortality was the 
unpretending, but real, repast now set before me, 
— fresh fruits from the Isle of Gardens in the Nile, 
the delicate flesh of the desert antelope, and wine 
from the Vineyard of the Queens at Anthylla, fan- 

1 1 one of the pages with a palm-leaf, to keep 



Having done justice to these dainties, it was 
with pleasure I heard the proposal of the Priest, 
that we should now walk forth together, and medi- 
tate among the scenes without. I had not forgot- 
ten the elysium that welcomed me last night, — 
those enchanted gardens, that mysterious music, 


60 


and light, and the fair forms 1 saw wandering 
about, — as if, in the very midst of happiness, still 
seeking it. The hope, which had then occurred to 
me, that, perhaps, among those sparkling groups, 
might be the maiden I sought, now returned with 
increased strength. I had little doubt that my 
guide was about to lead to the same Elysian scene, 
and that the form, so fit to inhabit it, would again 
appear before my eyes. 

But far different was the region to which he con- 
ducted me; nor could the whole world produce a 
scene more gloomy, or more strange. It had the 
appearance of a small, solitary valley, enclosed, 
on every side, by rocks, which seemed to rise, al- 
most perpendicularly, to the very sky; — for it was, 
indeed, the blue sky that I saw shining between 
their summits, and whose light, dimmed and half 
lost, in its descent thus far, formed the melancholy 
daylight of this nether world.* Down the side of 
these rocky walls fell a cataract, whose source was 
upon earth, and on whose waters, as they rolled 
glassily over the edge above, a gleam of radiance 
rested, that showed how brilliant was the sunshine 
they left From thence, gradually darkening, and 
broken, in its long descent, by alternate chasms 
and projections, the stream fell, at last, in a pale 
and thin mist — the phantom of what it had been on 
earth — into a small lake that lay at the base of the 
rock to receive it. 

Nothing could be more bleak and saddening from I 
the appearance of this lake. The usual ornaments \ 

* “ On s’etoit meme avise, depuis la premiere construc- 
tion de ces demeures, de percer en plusieurs endroits jusq’au 
haunt les terres qui les couvroient ; non pas, a la v^rite, pour 
tirer un jour qui n’auroit jamais ete suffisant, mais pour 
recevoir un air salutaire, &c.” — Sethos. 


61 


of the waters of Egypt were not wanting: the lotus 
here uplifted her silvery flowers, and the crimson 
flamingo floated over the tide. But they were, 
neither of them, the same as in the upper world; — 
the flower had exchanged its whiteness for a livid 
hue, and the wings of the bird hung heavy and co- 
lourless. Every thing wore the same half-living 
aspect; and the only sounds that disturbed the 
mournful stillness were the wailing cry of a heron 
among the sedges, and that din of the waters, in 
their midway struggle, above. 

There was an unearthly sadness in the whole 
scene, of which no heart, however light, could resist 
the influence. Perceiving how I was affected by 
it, “Such scenes,” said the Priest, 4 4 are best suited 
to that solemn complexion of mind, which becomes 
him who approaches the Great Secret of futurity. 
Behold,” — and, in saying thus, he pointed to the 
opening over our heads, through which I could per- 
ceive a star or two twinkling in the heavens, 
though the sun had but a short time passed his 
meridian, — 4 4 as from this gloomy depth we can 
I see those stars, which are now invisible to the 
dwellers upon the bright earth, even so, to the sad 
and self-humbled spirit, doth many a mystery of 
heaven reveal itself, of which they, who walk in 
the light of the proud world, know not!” 

He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, 
beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, 
that God without a smile, who presides over the 
kingdom of the Dead. * The same livid and life 
I less hue was upon his features, that hung over every 
thing in this dim valley; and, with his right hand, 
he pointed directly downwards, to denote that his 

* Osiris. 

F 


melancholy kingdom lay there. A plantain — that 
favourite tree of the genii of Death — stood behind 
the statue, and spread its branches over the alcove, 
in which the Priest now, seating himself, signified 
that I should take my place by his side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought and prepara- | 
tion,--“ Nobly,” said he, ‘‘young Greek, hast 
thou sustained the first trials of Initiation. What 
remains, though of vital import to the soul, brings 
with it neither pain nor peril to the body. Having 
now proved and chastened thy mortal frame, by 
the three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of Air, 
the next task to which we are called is the purifica- 
tion of thy spirit, — the cleansing of that inward and 
immortal part, so as to render it fit for the recep- 
tion of the last luminous revealment, when the 
Veils of the Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, and 
the Great Secret of Secrets unfolded to thee! — 
Towards this object, the primary and most essen- 
tial step is, instruction. What the three purifying ■ 
elements, through which thou hast passed, have 
done for thy body, instruction will effect for — ” 

“But that lovely maiden!” I exclaimed, burst- 
ing from my silence, having fallen, during his ; 
speech, into a deep revery, in which I had for- 
gotten him, myself, the Great Secret, every thing | 
— but her. 

Startled by this profane interruption, he cast a j 
look of alarm towards the statue, as if fearful lest 
the God should have heard my words. Then, * 
turning to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, “ It is j | 
but too plain,” said he, “that thoughts of the 
upper world, and of its vain delights, still engross J 
thee too much, to let the lessons of Truth sink pro- j 
fitably into thy heart. A few hours of meditation | 
amid this solemn scenery — of that wholesome me- j 


63 


dilation, which purifies, by saddening — may haply 
dispose thee to receive, with reverence, the holy 
and immortal knowledge that is in store for thee. 
With this hope, I now leave thee to thy own 
thoughts, and to that God, before whose calm and 
mournful eye the vanities of the world, from which 
thou comest, wither!” 

Thus saying, he turned slowly away, and pass- 
ing behind the statue, towards which he had pointed 
during the last sentence, suddenly, and as if by 
enchantment, disappeared from my sight. 


CHAP. IX. 

Being left to my own solitary thoughts, I had 
now leisure to reflect, with coolness, on the incon- 
veniences, if not dangers, of the situation into 
which my love of adventure had hurried me. How- 
ever ready my imagination was, to kindle, in its 
own ideal sphere, I have ever found that, when 
brought into contact with reality, it as suddenly 
cooled; — like those meteors, that seem stars in the 
air, but, the moment they touch earth, are extin- 
guished. Such was the disenchantment that now 
succeeded to the dreams in which I had been in- 
dulging. As long as fancy had the field of the 
future to herself, even immortality did not seem 
too distant a race for her. But when human instru- 
ments interposed, the illusion vanished. From 
mortal lips the promise of immortality seemed a 
mockery, and imagination herself had no wings 
that could carry beyond the grave. 

Nor was this disappointment the only feeling 
that occupied me; — the imprudence of the step, 


which 1 had taken, now appeared in its full extent 
before my eyes. I had thrown myself into the 
power of the" most artful priesthood in the world, 
without a chance of being able to escape from their 
toils, or to resist any machinations with which they 
might beset me. It seemed evident, from the state 
of preparation in which I had found all that won- 
derful apparatus, by which the terrors and splen- 
dours of Initiation are produced, that my descent 
into the pyramid was not unexpected. Numerous, 
indeed, and active as were the spies of the Sacred 
College of Memphis, there could be but little doubt 
that all my movements, since my arrival, had been 
tracked; and the many hours I had passed in 
watching and wandering round the pyramid, be- 
trayed a curiosity which might well inspire these i 
wily priests with the hope of drawing an Epicu- 
rean into their superstitious toils. 

I well knew their hatred to the sect of which I 
was Chief; — that they considered the Epicureans 
as, next to the Christians, the most formidable : 
enemies of their craft and power. 44 How thought- J 
less, then,” I exclaimed, 4 4 to have placed myself ,v 
in a situation, where I am equally helpless against 
their fraud and violence, and must either seem to j 
be the dupe of their impostures, or submit to be- | 
come the victim of their vengeance.” Of these | 
alternatives, bitter as they were, the latter ap- j 
peared by far the more welcome. I blushed even j 
to think of the mockeries to which I already had 
yielded; and the prospect of being put through still ; 
further ceremonials, and of being tutored and ; 
preached to by hypocrites I despised, appeared to 
me, in my present temper, a trial of patience, to 
which the flames and the whirlwinds I had already 
encountered, were pastime. 


65 


Often and impatiently did I look up, between 
those rocky walls, to the bright sky that appeared 
to rest upon their summits, as, round and round, 
through every part of the valley, I endeavoured to 
find an outlet from its gloomy precincts. But in 
vain I endeavoured; — that rocky barrier, which 
seemed to end but in heaven, interposed itself 
every where. Neither did the image of the young 
maiden, though constantly in my mind, now bring 
with it the least consolation or hope. Of what avail 
was it that she, perhaps, was an inhabitant of this 
region, if I could neither see her smile, nor catch 
the sound of her voice, — if, while among preaching 
priests I wasted away my hours, her presence dif- 
fused its enchantment elsewhere. 

At length exhausted, I lay down by the brink 
of the lake, and gave myself up to all the melan- 
choly of my fancy. The pale semblance of day- 
light, which had hitherto shone around, grew, every 
moment, more dim and dismal. Even the rich 
gleam, at the summit of the cascade, had faded; 
and the sunshine, like the water, exhausted in its 
descent, had now dwindled into a ghostly glimmer, 
far worse than darkness. The birds upon the lake, 
as if about to die with the dying light, sunk down 
their heads; and, as I looked to the statue, the 
deepening shadows gave an expression to its mourn- 
ful features that chilled my very soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to present 
itself to my imagination, now came with a dis- 
heartening weight, such as I had never before felt. 
I almost fancied myself already in the dark vesti- 
bule of the grave, — separated, for ever, from the 
world above, and with nothing but the blank of an 
eternal sleep before me. It had often, I knew, 
happened that the visitants ad* this mysterious 
f 2 


/ 


66 


realm were, after their descent from earth, never 
seen or heard of; — being condemned, for some ( 
failure in their initiatory trials, to pine away their 
lives in the dark dungeons, with which, as well as 
with altars, this region abounded. Such, I shud- 
dered to think, might probably be my destiny; ; 
and so appalling was the thought, that even the 
spirit of defiance died within me, and I was al- 
ready giving myself up to helplessness and des- 
pair. 

At length, after some hours of this gloomy 
musing, I heard a rustling in the sacred grove 
behind the statue; and, soon after, the sound of 
the Priest’s voice — more welcome than I had evei 
thought such voice could be — brought the assur 
ance that I was not yet, at least, wholly abandon- 
ed. Finding his way to me through the gloom, 
he now led me to the same spot, on which we had 
parted so many hours before; and, in a voice that 
retained no trace of displeasure, bespoke my at 
tention, while he should reveal to me some of 
those divine truths, by whose infusion, he said, 
into the soul of man, its purification can alone be •; 
effected. 

The valley had now become so wholly dark, 
that we could no longer discern each other’s faces, 1 
as we sat. There was a melancholy in the voice 1 
of my instructor that well accorded with the I 
gloom around us; and, saddened’ and subdued, I 
now listened with resignation, if not with interest, j 
to those sublime, but, alas, I thought, vain tenets, 
which, with the warmth of a believer, this Hiero- j 
pliant expounded to me. 

He spoke of the pre-existence of the soul, — of 
its abode, from all eternity, in a place of bliss, of 
which all that we have most beautiful in our con- 


67 

ceptions here is but a him transcript, a clouded 
remembrance. In the blue depths of ether, he 
said, lay that “Country of the Soul,”— its boun- 
dary alone visible in the line of milky light, that 
separates it, as by a barrier of stars, from the 
dark earth. “Oh, realm of purity! Home of the 
yet unfallen Spirit ! — where, in the days of her 
primal innocence, she wandered, ere her beauty 
was soiled by the touch of earth, or her resplendent 
wings had withered away. Methinks,” he cried, 
“I see, at this moment, those fields of radiance, — 
I look back, through the mists of life, into that 
luminous world, where the souls that have never 
lost their high, heavenly rank, still soar, without 
a stain, above the shadowless stars, and dwell to- 
gether in infinite perfection and bliss!” 

As he spoke these words, a burst of pure, bril- 
liant light, like a sudden opening of heaven, broke 
through the valley; and, as soon as my eyes were 
able to endure the splendour, such a vision of 
loveliness and glory opened upon them, as took 
even my sceptical spirit by surprise, and made it 
yield, at once, to the potency of the spell. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupying 
the whole of the opposite region of the valley, 
there appeared an immense orb of light, within 
which, through a haze of radiance, I could see dis- 
tinctly, groups of young female spirits, who, in 
silent, but harmonious movement, like that of 
the stars, wound slowly through a variety of fan- 
ciful evolutions; and, as they linked and unlinked 
each other’s arms, formed a living labyrinth of 
beauty and grace. Though their feet seemed to 
tread along a field of light, they had also wings, 
of the richest hue, which, like rainbows over wa- 


63 


terfalls, when played with by the breeze, at every 
moment reflected a new variety of glory. 

As I stood, gazing with wonder, the orb, with 
all its ethereal inmates, gradually receded into the 
dark void, lessening, as it went, and growing 
more bright, as it lessened: — till, at length, dis- 
tant, apparently, as a retiring comet, this little 
world of Spirits, in one small point of intense 
radiance, shone its last and vanished. “ Go,” ex- 
claimed the rapt Priest, 4 6 ye happy souls, of 
whose dwelling a glimpse is thus given to our 
eyes, go, wander, in your orb, through the bound- 
less heaven, nor ever let a thought of this perisha- 
ble world come to mingle its dross with your di- 
vine nature, or tempt you to that earthward fall, 
by which spirits, as bright have been ruined!” 

A pause ensued, during which, still under the 
influence of wonder, I sent my fancy wandering 
after the inhabitants of that orb, — almost wishing 
myself credulous enough to believe in a heaven, 
of which creatures, so like all that I most loved on 
earth, were inmates. 

At length, the Priest, with a sigh at the con- 
trast he was about to draw, between the happy 
spirits we had just seen, and the fallen ones of 
earth, resumed his melancholy History of the 
Soul. Tracing it, from the first moment of earth- 
ward desire, to its final eclipse in the shadows of 
this world, he dwelt upon every stage of its dark- 
ening descent, with a pathos that sent sadness 
into the very depths of the heart. The first down- 
ward look of the Spirit towards earth — the trem- 
ble of her wings on the edge of Heaven — the gid- 
dy slide, at length, down that fatal descent, and 
the Lethaean cup, midway in the sky, of which 
when she has once tasted. Heaven is forgot. — 


69 

through all these gradations he mournfully traced 
her fall, to the last stage of darkness, when, wholly 
immersed in this world, her celestial nature is 
changed, she can no longer rise above earth, nor 
remembers her home, but by glimpses so vague, 
that, mistaking for hope what .is only memory, 
she believes them to be a light from the Future, 
not the past. 

44 To retrieve this ruin of the once blessed Soul 
—to clear away, from around her, the clouds of 
earth, and, restoring her lost wings,* facilitate their 
return to Heaven — such,” said the reverend man, 
44 is the great task of our religion, and such the 
triumph of those divine Mysteries, in which the 
life and essence of our religion lie. However sunk 
and changed and clouded may be the Spirit, as long 
as a single trace of her original light remains, there 
is yet hope that ” 

Here his voice was interrupted by a strain of 
mournful music, of which the low, distant breath- 
ings had been, for some minutes, heard, but which 
now gained upon the ear too thrillingly to let it 
listen to any more earthly sound. A faint light, 
too, at that instant broke through the valley,— 
and I could perceive, not far from the spot where 
we sat, a female figure, veiled, and crouching to 
earth, as if subdued by sorrow, or under the in- 
fluence of shame. 

The light, by which I saw her, was from a pale, 
moon-like meteor, which had formed itself in the 
air as the music approached, and shed over the 
rocks and the lake a glimmer as cold as that by 
which the Dead, in their own realm, gaze on each 

* In the language of Plato, Hierocles, &c. to “ restore to 
the soul its wings,” is the main object both of religion and 
philosophy. 


TO 


other. The music, too, which appeared to rise di- 
rectly out of the lake, and to come full of the 
breath of its dark waters, spoke a despondency in 
every note which no language could express; — and, 
as I listened to its tones, and looked upon that 
fallen Spirit, (for- such the holy man whispered, 
was the form before us,) so entir 1 



of the scene take possession 


breathless anxiety, I waited the result. 

Nor had I gazed long before that form rose slow- 
ly from its drooping position; — the air around it 
grew bright, and the pale meteor overhead assumed , 
a more cheerful and living light. The veil, which 
had before shrouded the face of the figure became 
gradually transparent, and the features, one by 
one, disclosed themselves through it. Having i 
tremblingly watched the progress of the apparition, $ 
I now started from my seat, and half exclaimed, » 
“It is she!” In another minute, this veil had, 
like a thin mist, melted away, and the young 
Priestess of the Moon stood,, for the third time, 
revealed before my eyes. 

To rush instantly towards her was my first im- | 
pulse — but the arm of the Priest held me firmly 
back. The fresh light, which, had begun to flow 
in from all sides, collected itself in a glory round 
the spot where she stood. Instead of melancholy 
music, strains of the most exalted rapture were 
heard: and the young maiden, buoyant as the v 
inhabitants of the fairy orb, amid a blaze of light 
like that which fell upon her in the Temple,' ascend- 
ed into the air. 

u Stay, beautiful vision, stay!” I exclaimed, as, i 
breaking from the hold of the Priest, I flung my- *1 
self prostrate on the ground, — the only mode by 
which I could express the admiration, even to ^ 


71 


worship, with which I was filled. But the vanish- 
ing spirit heard me not: — receding into the dark- 
ness, like that orb, whose track she seemed to fol- 
low, her form lessened away, till she was seen no 
more. Gazing, till the last luminous speck had 
disappeared, I suffered myself unconsciously to be 
led away by my reverend guide, who, placing me 
once more on my bed of poppy-leaves, left me to 
such repose as it was possible, after such a scene, 
to enjoy. 


CHAP. X. 

The apparition with which I had been blessed 
in that Valley of Visions — as the place where I 
Jiad witnessed these wonders was called — brought 
back to my heart all the hopes and fancies, in 
which I had indulged during my descent front 
earth. I had now seen once more that matchless 
creature, who had been my guiding star into this 
mysterious world; and that she was, in someway, 
connected with the further revelations that awaited 
me, I saw no reason to doubt. There was a sub- 
limity, too, in the doctrines of my reverend 
teacher, and even a hope in the promises of im- 
mortality held out by him, which, in spite of rea- 
son, won insensibly both upon my fancy and my 
pride. 

The Future, however, was now but of secondary 
consideration; — the Present, and that deity of the 
Present, woman, were the objects that engrossed 
my whole soul. For the sake, indeed, of such be- 
ings alone did I think immortality desirable, — nor, 
without them, would eternal life have appeared to 


72 


me worth a prayer. To every further trial of my 
patience and faith, I now made up my mind to sub- 
mit without a murmur. Some propitious chance, 

I fondly persuaded myself, might yet bring me 
nearer to the object of my adoration, and enable 
me to address, as mortal woman, her who had 
hitherto been to me but as a vision, a shade. 

The period of my probation, however, was nearly 
at an end. Both frame and spirit had now been 
tried 5 and, as the crowning test of the purification 
of the latter was that power of seeing into the world 
of spirits, with which, in the Valley of Visions, I 
had proved myself to be endowed, there remained 
now, to perfect my Initiation, but this one night 
more, when in the Temple of Isis, and in the pre- « 
sence of her unveiled image, the last grand revela- 
tion of the Secret of Secrets was to open upon me. j 

I passed the morning of this day in company with , 
the same venerable personage, who had, from the 
first, presided over the ceremonies of my instruc- 
tion; and who, to inspire me with due reverence 
for the power and magnificence of his religion, now 
conducted me through the long range, of illumi- 
nated galleries and shrines, that extend under the 
site upon which Memphis and the Pyramids stand, 
and form a counterpart underground, to that mighty 
city of temples upon earth. 

He then descended with me, still lower, into 
those winding crypts, where lay the Seven Tables ? 
of stone, found by Hermes in the valley of Hebron. ' 
i 6 On these tables,” said he, “is written all the ' 
knowledge of the antediluvian race, — the decrees ’! 
of the stars from the beginning of time, the annals 
of a still earlier world, and all the marvellous se- 
crets both of heaven and earth, v r hich would have 
been*, 


73 


u But for this key 
Lost in the Universal Sea.” 

Returning to the region, from which we had de- 
scended, we next visited, in succession, a series, 
of small shrines, representing the various objects 
of adoration through Egypt, and thus furnishing 
to the Priest, an occasion for explaining the mys- 
terious nature of animal worship, and the refined 
doctrines of theology that lay veiled under its 
forms. Every shrine was consecrated to a parti- 
cular faith, and contained a living image of the 
deity which it adored. Beside the goat of Mendes, 
with his refulgent star upon his breast, I saw the 
crocodile, as presented to the eyes of its idolaters 
at Arsinoe, with costly gems in its loathsome ears, 
and rich bracelets of gold encircling its feet. Here, 
floating through a tank in the centre of a temple, 
the sacred carp of Lepidotum exhibited its silvery 
scales; while, there, the Isiac serpents trailed lan- 
guidly over the altar, with that movement which 
most inspires the hopes of their votaries. In one 
of the small chapels we found a beautiful child, 
feeding and watching over those golden beetles, 
which are adored for their brightness as emblems 
of the sun; while, in another, stood a sacred ibis 
upon its pedestal, so like, in plumage and attitude, 
to the bird of the young Priestess, that I could 
gladly have knelt down and worshipped it for her 
sake. 

After visiting these various shrines, and listen- 
ing to the reflections which they suggested, I was 
next led, by my guide, to the Great Hall of the 
Zodiac, on whose ceiling, in bright and undying 
colours, was delineated the map of the firmament, 
as it appeared at the first dawn of time. — Here, in 

G 


74 


pointing out the track of the sun, among the 
spheres, he spoke eloquently of the analogy that 
exists between moral and physical darkness— -of 
the sympathy with which all spiritual creatures 
regard the sun, so as to sadden and droop when 
he sinks into his wintry hemisphere, and to rejoice | 
when he resumes his own empire of light. Hence, 
the festivals and hymns, with which most of the 
nations of the earth are wont to welcome the re- 
surrection of his orb in spring, as an emblem and | 
pledge of the re-ascent of the soul to heaven. 
Hence, the songs of sorrow, the mournful cere- 
monies, — like those Mysteries of the Night, upon 
the Lake of Sais, in which they brood over his au- 
tumnal descent into the shades, as a type of the 
Spirit’s fall into this world of death. 

In discourses such as these the hours passed ? 
away; and though there was nothing in the light of jj 
this sunless region to mark to the eye the decline \ 
of day, my own feelings told me that the night 
drew near; — nor, in spite of my incredulity, could 
I refrain from a flutter of hope, as that promised 
moment of revelation approached, when the Mys- 
tery of Mysteries was to be made all my own. J 
This consummation, however, was less near than 
I expected. My patience had still further -trials \ 
to encounter. It was necessary, I now found, that 
I should keep watch, during the greater part of the 
night, in the Sanctuary of the Temple, alone, and \ 
in darkness,- — and thus prepare myself, by medi- 
tation, for the awful moment, when the irradiation 
from behind the sacred Veils was to burst upon me. 

At the appointed hour, we left the Hall of the 
Zodiac, and proceeded through a line of long mar- 
ble galleries, where the lamps were more thinly 
scattered as we advanced, till, at length, we found 


75 


ourselves in total darkness. Here the Priest, 
taking me by the hand, and leading me down a 
flight of steps, into a place where the same deep 
gloom prevailed, said, with a voice trembling, as 
if from excess of awe, — “Thou art now in the 
Sanctuary of our goddess, Isis, and the dark veils, 
that hang over her image, are before thee!” 

After exhorting me earnestly to that train of 
thought, which best accorded with the spirit of the 
place where I stood, and, above all, to that full 
and unhesitating faith, with which alone, he said, 
the manifestation of such mysteries should be ap- 
proached, the holy man took leave of me, and re- 
ascended the steps; — while, so spell-bound did I 
feel by that deep darkness, that the last sound of 
his footsteps died upon my ear, before I ventured 
to stir a limb from the position in which he had 
left me. 

The prospect of the long watch, now before me, 
was dreadful. Even danger itself, in an active 
form, would have been preferable to this sort of 
safe, but dull, probation, by which patience was 
the only virtue put to the proof. Having ascer- 
tained how far the space around me was free from 
obstacles, I endeavoured to beguile the time by 
pacing up and down within those limits, till I be- 
came tired of the echoes of my own tread. Find- 
ing my way, then, to what I felt to be a massive 
pillar, and, leaning w r earily against it, I surren- 
dered myself to a train of thoughts and feelings, 
far different from those with which the Hierophant 
had hoped to inspire me. 

“Why,” I again asked, “if these priests .pos- 
sess the secret of life, why are they themselves the 
victims of death? why sink into the grave with the 
cup of immortality in their hands? But no, safe 


/ 


76 


boasters, the eternity they so lavishly promise is 
reserved for another , a future world — that ready 
resource of all priestly promises — that depository 
of the airy pledges of all creeds. Another world! 
— alas, where does it lie? or, what spirit hath ever 
come to say that Life is there?” 

The conclusion, to which, half sadly, half pas- 
sionately, I arrived, was that, life being but a 
dream of the moment, never to come again, every 
bliss that is promised for hereafter should be se- 
cured by the wise man here. And, as no heaven 
I had ever heard of from these visionary priests, 
opened half such certainty of happiness as that 
smile which I beheld last night, — “Let me,” I 
exclaimed, impatiently, striking the massy pillar, 
till it rung, “let me but make that beautiful 
Priestess my own, and I here willingly exchange 
for her every chance of immortality, mat the com- 
bined wisdom of Egypt’s Twelve Temples can of- 
fer me!” 

No sooner had I uttered these words, than a 
tremendous peal, like that of thunder, rolled over 
the Sanctuary, and seemed to shake its walls. On 
every side, too, a succession of blue, vivid flashes 
pierced, like so many lances of light, through the 
gloom, revealing to me, at intervals, the mighty 
dome in which I stood — its ceiling of azure, stud- 
ded with stars, its colossal columns, towering aloft, 
and those dark, mysterious veils, which hung, in 
massy drapery, from the roof to the floor, and 
covered the rich glories of the Shrine under their 
folds. 

So weary had I grown of my tedious watch, that 
this stormy and fitful illumination, during which 
the Sanctuary seemed to rock to its base, was by 
no means an unwelcome interruption of the mono* 




* 






tony under which my impatience suffered. After 
a short interval, however, the flashes ceased 5— the 
sounds died away, like exhausted thunder, through 
the abyss, and darkness and silence, like that of 
the grave, succeeded. 

Resting my back once more against the pillar, 
and fixing my eyes upon that side of the Sanctu- 
ary, from which the promised irradiation was to 
burst, I now resolved to await the awful moment 
in patience. Resigned and immoveable, I had re- 
mained thus, for nearly another hour, when, sud- 
denly, along the edges of the mighty Veils, I per- 
ceived a thin rim of light, .as if from some brilliant 
object under them ; — like that border which encir- 
cles a cloud at sunset, when the radiance, from be- 
hind, is escaping at its edges. 

This indication of concealed glories grew every 
instant more strong; till, at last, vividly marked as 
it was upon the darkness, the narrow fringe of 
lustre almost pained the eye, giving promise of a 
splendour too bright to be endured. My expecta- 
tions were now wound to the highest pitch, and all 
the scepticism, into which I had been cooling down 
my mind, was forgotten. The wonders that had 
been presented to me since my descent from earth 
— that glimpse into Elysium on the first night of 
my Coming — those visitants from the Land of Spi- 
rits in the mysterious valley, — all led me to ex- 
pect, in this last and brightest revelation, such 
visions of glory and knowledge as might transcend 
even fancy itself, nor leave a doubt that they be- 
longed less to earth than heaven. 

While, with an imagination thus excited, I stood 
waiting the result, an increased gush of light still 
more awakened my attention; and l saw, with an 
intenseness of interest, which made my heart beat 


78 


aloud, one of the corners of the mighty Veil slowly 
raised up. I now felt that the Great Secret — 
whatever it might be — was at hand. A vague hope 
even crossed my mind — so wholly had imagination 
resumed her empire — that the splendid promise of 
my dream was on the point of being realised! 

With surprise, however, and — for a moment — 
with disappointment, I perceived, that the massy 
corner of the Veil was but raised sufficiently to 
allow a female figure to emerge from under it, — 
and then fell again, over its mystic splendours, as 
dark as before. By the strong light, too, that issued 
when the drapery was lifted, and illuminated the 
profile of the emerging figure, I either saw, or fan- 
cied that I saw, the same bright features, that had 
already mocked me so often with their momentary 
charm, and seemed destined to haunt my heart as 
unavailinglv as the fond, vain dream of Immor- 
tality itself. 

Dazzled, as I had been, by that short gush of 
splendour, and distrusting even my senses, when 
under the influence of a fancy so excited, I had 
hardly time to question myself as to the reality of 
my impression, when I heard the sounds of light ‘ 
footsteps approaching me through the gloom. In 
a second or two more, the figure stopped before 
me, and, placing the end of a riband gently in my 
hand, said, in a tremulous whisper, “ Follow, and 
be silent.” 

So sudden and strange was the adventure, that, 
for a moment, I hesitated, — fearful lest my eyes 
should have been deceived as to the object they 
had seen. Casting a look towards the Veil, which 
seemed bursting with its luminous secret, I was 
almpst doubting to which of the two chances I 
should commit myself, when I felt the riband in 


79 


my hand pulled softly at the other extremity. This 
movement, at once, like a touch of magic, decided 
me. Without further deliberation, I yielded to the 
silent summons, and following my guide, who was 
already at some distance before me, found myself 
led up the same flight of marble steps, by which 
the Priest had conducted me into the Sanctuary. 
Arrived at their summit, I felt the pace of my con- 
ductress quicken, and, giving one more look to the 
Veiled Shrine, whose glories we left burning inef- 
fectually behind us, hastened into the gloom, full 
of confidence in the belief, that she, who now held 
the other end of that clue, was one whom I could 
follow devotedly through the world. 


CHAP. XI. 

So rapidly was I hurried along by my unseen 
conductress, full of wonder at the speed with which 
she ventured through these labyrinths, that I had 
but little time to reflect upon the strangeness of 
the adventure to which I had committed myself. 
My knowledge of the character of the priests, as 
well as the fearful rumours that had reached me, 
of the fate that often attended unbelievers in their 
hands, waked a momentary suspicion of treachery 
in my mind. But, when I recalled the face of my 
guide, as I had seen it in the chapel, with that di- 
vine look, the very memory of which brought purity 
into the heart, this suspicion all vanished, and I 
felt shame at having harboured it but an instant. 

In the mean while, our course continued unin- 
terrupted, through windings more capriciously in- 
tricate than any that I had yet passed, and whose 


80 


darkness seemed never to have been disturbed by 
a single glimmer. My conductress still continued 
at some distance before me, and the clue, to which 
I clung as if it were the thread of Destiny herself, 
was still kept, by her speed, at full stretch between 
us. At length, suddenly stopping, she said, in a 
breathless whisper , 44 Seat thyself here, ” and, at the 
same moment, led me by the hand to a sort of low 
car, in which I lost not a moment in placing my- 
self, as desired, while the maiden, as promptly, 
took her seat by my side. 

A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, 
was then heard, and the car,* — which, as I had 
felt in entering it, leaned half-way over a steep 
descent, — on being loosed from its station, shot 
down, almost perpendicularly, into the darkness, 
with a rapidity, which, at first, nearly deprived 
me of breath. The wheels slid smoothly and 
noiselessly in grooves, and the impetus, which the 
car acquired in descending, was sufficient, I per- 
ceived, to carry it up an eminence that succeeded, 

— from the summit of which it again rushed down 
another declivity, even still more long and preci- 
pitous than the former. In this manner we pro- 
ceeded, by alternate falls and rises, till, at length, 
from tiie last and steepest elevation, the car de- 
scended upon a level of deep sand, where, after 
running for a few yards, it by degrees lost its mo- 
tion and stopped. 

Here, the maiden alighting, again placed the 
riband in my hands, — and again I followed her, ' 
though with more slowness and difficulty than be- I 
fore, as our way led up a flight of damp and time- 
worn steps, whose ascent seemed to the weary and J 
insecure foot interminable. Perceiving with what 
languor my guide now advanced, I was on the 


31 


point of making an effort to assist her progress, 
when the creak of an opening door above, and a 
faint gleam of light which, at the same moment, 
shone upon her figure, apprised me that we were 
arrived within reach of sunshine. 

Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, 
by the dim light, could discern, that we were now 
in the sanctuary of a vast, ruined temple, — having 
entered by a passage under the lofty pedestal, 
upon which an image of the idol of the place once 
stood. The first movement of the maiden, after 
replacing the portal under the pedestal, was with- 
out even a look towards me, to cast herself down 
on her knees, with her hands clasped and uplift- 
ed, as if for the purpose of thanksgiving or prayer. 
But she was unable to sustain herself in this po- 
sition; — her strength could hold out no longer. 
Overcome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk sense- 
less upon the pavement. 

Bewildered as I was, myself, by the events of 
the night, I stood for some minutes looking upon 
her in a state of helplessness and alarm. But 
reminded, by my own feverish sensations, of the 
reviving effects of the air, I raised her gently in 
my arms, and crossing the corridor that surround- 
ed the sanctuary, found my way to the outer ves- 
tibule of the temple. Here, shading her eyes 
from the sun, I placed her, reclining, upon the 
steps, where the cool wind, then blowing freshly 
from the north, might play, with free draught, be- 
tween the pillars over her brow. 

It was, indeed,— I now saw, with certainty, — 
the same beautiful and mysterious girl, who had 
been the cause of my descent into that subterra- 
nean world, and who now, under such strange 
and unaccountable circumstances, was my guide 


82 


back again to the realms of day. 1 looked round, 
to discover where we were, and beheld such a 
scene of grandeur, as — could my eyes have wan- 
dered to any other object from the pale form re- 
clining at my side — might well have won them to 
dwell on its splendid beauties. I 

I was now standing, I found, on the small 
island in the centre of Lake Moeris; and that 
sanctuary, where we had emerged from darkness, 
formed part of the ruins of a temple, which (as I 
have since learned) was, in the grander days of 
Memphis, a place of pilgrimage for worshippers 
from all parts of Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, 
out of whose waters once rose pavilions, palaces, 
and even lofty pyramids, was still, though divest- 
ed of many of these wonders, a scene of interest 
and splendour such as the whole world could not 
equal. While the shores still sparkled with man- 
sions and temples, that bore testimony to the lux- 
ury of a living race, the voice of the Past, speak- 
ing out of unnumbered ruins, whose summits here 
and there, rose blackly above the wave, told of 
times long fled and generations long swept away, 
before whose giant remains all the glory of the 
present stood humbled. Over the southern bank 
of the Lake hung the dark relics of the Laby- 
rinth; — its twelve Royal Palaces, like the man- 
sions of the Zodiac, — its thundering portals and 
constellated halls, having left nothing behind but 
a few frowning ruins, which, contrasted with the 
soft groves of olive and acacia around them, seem- 
ed to rebuke the luxuriant smiles of nature, and 
threw a melancholy grandeur over the whole 
scene. 

The effects of the air, in re-animating the young 
Priestess, were less speedy than I had expected: — 


83 


her eyes were still closed, and she remained pale 
and insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her head 
(which had been, for some time, supported by my 
arm,) against the base of a column, with my cloak 
for its pillow, while I hastened to procure some 
water from the Lake. The temple stood high, and 
the descent to the shor.e was precipitous. But, my 
Epicurean habits having but little impaired my ac- 
tivity, I soon descended, with the lightness of a 
desert deer, to the bottom. Here, plucking from 
a lofty bean-tree whose flowers stood, shining like 
gold, above the water, one of those large hollowed 
leaves that serve as cups for the Hebes of the Nile, 
1 filled it from the Lake, and hurried back with the 
cool draught to the temple. It was not without 
; some difficulty and delay that I succeeded, in 
j bearing my rustic chalice steadily up the steep; 
more than once did an unlucky slip waste its con- 
tents, and as often did I impatiently return to re- 
! fill it. 

During this time, the young maiden was fast re- 
covering her animation and consciousness; and, at 
the moment when I appeared above the edge of the 
steep, was just rising from the steps, with her hand 
pressed to her forehead, as if confusedly recalling 
the recollection of what had occurred. No sooner 
did she observe me, than a short cry of alarm 
broke from her lips. Looking anxiously round, as 
though she sought for protection, and half audibly 
uttering the words, ii Where is he?” she made an 
effort, as I approached, to retreat into the temple. 

Already, however, I was by her side, and taking 
her hand gently, as she turned away, “ Whom 
dost thou seek, fair Priestess?” I asked, — for the 
first time breaking through the silence she had en- 
joined, and in a tone that might have re-assured 


84 


the most timid spirit. But my words had no effect 
in calming her apprehension. Trembling, and 
with her eyes still averted towards the Temple, 
she continued in a voice of suppressed alarm, — 

4 ‘Where can he be? — that venerable Athenian, 
that philosopher, who ” 

“ Here, here,” I exclaimed, anxiously interrupt- 
ing her, — “ behold him still by thy side — the same, 
the very same who saw thee steal from under the 
lighted Veils of the Sanctuary, whom thou hast 
guided by a clue through those labyrinths below, 
and who now but waits his command from those 
lips, to devote himself through life and death to 
thy service. ” As I spoke these words, she turned 
slowly round, and looking timidly in my face, 
while her own burned with blushes, said, in a tone 
of doubt and wonder, “Thou!” and hid her eyes 
in her hands. 

I knew not how to interpret a reception so un- 
expected. That some mistake or disappointment 
had occurred was evident; but so inexplicable did 
the whole adventure appear, that it was in vain to 
think of unravelling any part of it. Weak and 
agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the tem- 
ple, and there seating herself, with her forehead 
against the cold marble, seemed for some moments 
absorbed in the most anxious thought, — while si- ■ 
lent and watchful I waited her decision, with a ; 
prophetic feeling, however, that my destiny would 
be henceforth linked with hers. 

The inward struggle by which she was agitated, 
though violent, was not of long continuance. Start- 
ing suddenly from her seat, with a look of terror 
towards the temple, as if the fear of immediate 
pursuit had alone decided her, she pointed eagerly 
towards the East, and exclaimed, “To the Nile, ij 


85 


without delay i ,? — clasping her hands, when she. 
had spoken, with the most suppliant fervour, as if 
to soften the abruptness of the mandate she had 
given, and appealing to me with a look that would 
nave taught Stoics tenderness. 

I lost no time in obeying the welcome command. 
While a thousand wild hopes and wishes crowded 
upon my fancy, at the prospect which a voyage, 
under such auspices, presented, I descended ra- 
pidly to the shore, and hailing one of the nume- 
rous boats that ply upon the Lake for hire, ar- 
ranged speedily for a passage down the canal to 
the Nile. Having learned, too, from the boatmen, 
a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back to 
the Temple for my fair charge; and without a word, 
a look, that could alarm, even by its kindness, or 
disturb that innocent confidence which she now 
placed in me, led her down by the winding path to 
the boat. 

Every thing looked smiling around us as we em- 
barked. The morning was now in its first fresh- 
ness, and the path of the breeze might be traced 
over the Lake, wakening up its waters from their 
sleep of the night. The gay, golden-winged birds 
that haunt these shores, were, in every direction, 
skimming along the Lake; while, with a graver con- 
sciousness of beauty, the swan and the pelican were 
seen dressing their white plumage in the mirror of 
its wave. To add to the animation of the scene, 
a sweet tinkling of musical instruments came, at 
intervals, on the breeze, from boats at a distance, 
employed thus early in pursuing the fish of these 
waters, that suffer themselves to be decoyed into 
the nets by music. 

The vessel which I selected for our voyage, was 
one of those small pleasure-boats or yachts, — so 

H 


86 


much in use among the luxurious navigators of the 
Nile, — in the centre of which rises a pavilion of 
cedar or cypress wood, gilded gorgeously, without, 
with religious emblems, and fitted up, within, for 
all the purposes of feasting and repose. To the 
door of this pavilion I now led my companion, and, 
after a few words of kindness — tempered with as 
much respectful reserve as the deep tenderness 
which I felt would admit of — left her in solitude 
to court that restoring rest, which the agitation of 
her spirits but too much required. 

For myself, though repose was hardly less ne- 
cessary to me, the ferment in which my thoughts 
had been kept seemed to render it hopeless. — 
Throwing myself upon the deck, under an awn- 
ing which the sailors had raised for me, I continu- 
ed, for some hours, in a sort of vague day-dream, 
— sometimes passing in review the scenes of that 
subterranean drama, and sometimes, with my eyes 
fixed in drowsy vacancy, receiving passively the 
impressions of the bright scenery through which we 
passed. 

The banks of the canal were then luxuriantly 
wooded. Under the tufts of the light and tower- 
ing palm, were seen the orange and the citron, in- 
terlacing their boughs; while, here and there, huge 
tamarisks thickened the shade, and, at the very 
edge of the bank, the willow of Babylon stood 
bending its graceful branches into the water. Oc- 
casionally, out of the depth of these groves, there 
shone a small temple or pleasure house; — while, 
now and then, an opening in their line of foliage 
allowed the eye to wander over extensive fields, 
all covered with beds of those pale, sweet roses, 
for which this district of Egypt is so celebrated. 

The activity of the morning hour was visible 


87 


every where. Flights of doves and lapwings were 
fluttering among the leaves, and the white heron, 
which had roosted all night in some date-tree, now 
stood sunning its wings upon the green bank, or 
floated, like living silver, over the flood. The 
flowers, too, both' of land and water, looked freshly 
awakened; — -and, most of all, the superb lotus, 
which had risen with the sun from the wave, and 
was now holding up her chalice for a full draught 
of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now passed before 
my eyes, and mingled with the reveries that float- 
ed through my mind, as our boat, with its high, 
capacious sail, swept over the- flood. Though the 
occurrences of the last few days appeared to me 
one series of wonders, yet by far the most miracu- 
lous wonder of all was, that she, whose first look 
had sent wild-fire into my heart, — whom I had 
thought of ever since with a restlessness of pas- 
sion, that would have dared any thing on earth to 
obtain its object, — was now sleeping sacredly in 
that small pavilion, while guarding her, even from 
myself, I lay calmly at its threshold. 

Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian. 
The busy hum of the morning had died gradually 
away, and all around was sleeping in the hot still- 
ness of noon. The Nile-goose, folding her splen- 
did wings, was lying motionless on the shadow of 
the sycamores in the water. Even the nimble 
lizards upon the bank seemed to move more lan- 
guidly, as the light fell upon their gold and azure 
hues. Overcome as I was with watching, and 
weary with thought, it was not long before I yield- 
ed to the becalming influence of the hour* Look- 
ing fixedly at the pavilion, — as if once more co as- 
sure my senses, that I was not already in a dream, 


83 


but that the young Egyptian was really there,— -I 
felt my eyes close as I looked, and in a few mi- 
nutes sunk into a profound sleep. 


CHAP. XII 

It was by the canal through which we now sail- 
ed, that, in the more prosperous days of Memphis, 
the commerce of Upper Egypt and Nubia was 
transported to her magnificent Lake, and from 
thence, having paid tribute to the queen of cities, 
was poured out again, through the Nile, into the 
ocean. The course of this canal to the river was 
not direct, but ascending in a south-easterly direc- 
tion, towards the Said; and in calms, or with ad- 
verse winds, the passage was tedious. But as the 
breeze was now blowing freshly from the north* 
there was every prospect of our reaching the river 
before night-fall. Rapidly, too, as our galley 
swept along the flood, its motion was so smooth as 
to be hardly felt; and the quiet gurgle of the wa- 
ters underneath, and the drowsy song of the boat- 
man at the prow, alone disturbed the deep silence 
that prevailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the 
Libyan hills, before the sleep, in which these 
sounds lulled me, was broken; and the first object, 
on which my eyes rested, in waking, was that fair 
young Priestess, — seated under a porch by which 
the door of the pavilion was shaded, and bending 
intently over a small volume that lay unrolled on 
her lap. 

Her face was but half turned towards me, and 
as, once or twice, she raised her eyes to the warm 


89 


sky, whose light fell, softened through the trellis, 
over her cheek, I found every feeling of reverence, 
with which she had inspired me in the chapel, re- 
turn. There was even a purer and holier charm 
around her countenance, thus seen by the natural 
light of day, than in those dim and unhallowed re- 
gions below. She could now, too, look direct to 
the glorious sky, and that heaven and her eyes, so 
w orthy of each other, met. 

After contemplating her for a few moments, 
with little less than adoration, I rose gently from 
my resting-place, and approached the pavilion. 
But the mere movement had startled her from her 
devotion, and, blushing and confused, she cover- 
ed the volume with the folds of her robe. 

In the art of winning upon female confidence, 
I had long been schooled; and, now that to the 
lessons of gallantry the inspiration of love w r as 
added, my ambition to please and to interest 
could hardly, it may be supposed, fail of success. 
I soon found, however, how much less fluent is 
the heart than the fancy, and how very distinct 
are the operations of making love and feeling it. 
In the few words of greeting now exchanged be- 
tween us, it was evident that the gay, the enter- 
prising Epicurean was little less embarrassed than 
the secluded Priestess; — and, after one or two in- 
effectual efforts to bring our voices acquainted 
with each other, the eyes of both turned bashfully 
away, and we relapsed into silence. 

From this situation — the result of timidity on 
the one side, and of a feeling altogether new, on 
the other — we were, at length, after an interval 
of estrangement, relieved, by the boatmen an- 
nouncing that the Nile was in sight. The coun- 
tenance of the voung Egyptian brightened at this 
u 9 


90 


intelligence; and the smile with which I congra- 
tulated her on the speed of our voyage was an- 
swered by another, so full of gratitude, that al- 
ready an instinctive sympathy seemed established 
between us. 

We were now on the point of entering that sa- 
cred river, of whose sweet waters the exile drinks 
in his dreams, — for a draught of whose flood the 
daughters of the Ptolemies, when wedded to 
foreign kings, sighed in the midst of their splen- 
dour. As our boat, with slackened sail, glided 
into the current, an inquiry from the boatmen, 
whether they should anchor for the night in the 
Nile, first reminded me of the ignorance, in which 
I still remained, with respect to either the motive 
or destination of our voyage. Embarrassed by 
their question I directed my eyes towards the 
Priestess, whom I saw waiting for my answer with 
a look of anxiety, which this silent reference to 
her wishes at once dispelled. Eagerly unfolding 
the volume with which I had seen her occupied, 
she took from its folds a small leaf of papyrus, on 
which there appeared to be some faint lines of 
drawing, and after thoughtfully looking upon it, 
herself, for a moment, placed it, with an agitated 
hand in mine. 

In the mean time, the boatmen had taken in 
their sail, and the yacht drove slowly down the 
river with the current, while, by a light which 
had been kindled at sunset on the deck, I stood 
examining the leaf that the Priestess had given 
me — her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my coun- 
tenance all the while. The lines traced upon the 
papyrus were so faint as to be almost invisible, 
and I was for some time at a loss to divine their 
import. At length, I could perceive that they 


91 


were the outlines, or map — traced slightly and 
unsteadily with a Memphian reed — of a part of 
that mountainous ridge by which Upper Egpyt 
is bounded to the east, together with the names, 
or rather emblems, of the chief towns in the neigh- 
bourhood. 

It was thither, I could not doubt, that the 
young Priestess wished to pursue her course. 
Without a moment’s delay, therefore, I gave or- 
ders to the boatmen to set our yacht before the 
wind and ascend the current. My command was 
promptly obeyed: the white sail again rose into 
the region of the breeze, and the satisfaction that 
beamed in every feature of the fair Egyptian show- 
ed that the quickness with which I had obeyed 
her wishes was not unfelt by her. The moon had 
now risen; and though the current was against 
us, the Etesian wind of the season blew strongly 
up the river, and we were soon floating before it, 
through the rich plains and groves of the Said. 

The love, with which this simple girl had in- 
spired me, was — possibly from the mystic scenes 
and situations in which I had seen her — not un- 
mingled with a tinge of superstitious awe, under 
the influence of which I felt the buoyancy of my 
spirit checked. The few words that had passed 
between us on the subject of our route had some- 
what loosened this spell; and what I wanted of 
vivacity and confidence, was more than made up 
by the tone of deep sensibility which love had 
awakened in their place. 

We had not proceeded far before the glittering 
of lights at a distance, and the shooting up of 
fireworks, at intervals, into the air, apprised us 
that we were approaching one of those night-fairs, 
or marts, which it is the custom, at this season, to 


92 


hold upon the Nile. To me the scene was familiars 
but to my young companion it was evidently a new 
world; and the mixture of alarm and delight with 
which she gazed, from under' her veil, upon the 
busy scene into which we now sailed, gave an air 
of innocence to her beauty, which still more height- 
ened its every charm. 

It was one of the widest parts of the river; and 
the whole surface, from one bank to the other, was 
covered with boats. Along the banks of a green 
island, in the middle of the stream, lay anchored 
the galleys of the principal traders — large floating 
bazaars, bearing each the name of its owner, em- 
blazoned in letters of flame, upon the stern. Over 
their decks were spread out, in gay confusion, the 
products of the loom and needle of Egypt — rich 
carpets of Memphis, and those variegated veils, 
for which the female embroiderers of the Nile are 
so celebrated, and to which the name of Cleopatra 
lends a traditional value. In each of the other 
galleys was exhibited some branch of Egyptian 
workmanship — vases of the fragrant porcelain of 
On, — cups of that frail crystal, whose hues change 
like those of the pigeon’s plumage, — enamelled 
amulets graven with the head of Anubis, and 
necklaces and bracelets of the black beans of Abys- 
sinia. 

While Commerce thus displayed her luxuries in 
one quarter, in every other direction Pleasure, 
multiplied into her thousand shapes, swarmed over 
the waters. Nor was the festivity confined to the 
river only. All along the banks of the island and 
on the shores, lighted up mansions were seen 
through the trees, from which sounds of music and 
merriment came. In some of the boats were bands 
of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered 


93 


each other, like echoes, across the wave; and tiic 
notes of the 1 yre, the flageolet, and the sweet lotus- 
wood flute, were heard, in the pauses of revelry, 
dying along the waters. 

Meanwhile, from other boats stationed in the 
least lighted places, the workers of fire sent forth 
their wonders into the air. Bursting out from time 
to time, as if in the very exuberance of joy, these 
sallies of flame seemed to reach the sky, and there 
breaking into a shower of sparkles, shed such a 
splendour round, as brightened even the white Ara- 
bian hills — making them shine like the brow of 
Mount Atlas at night, when the fire from his own 
bosom is playing around its snows. 

The opportunity which this luxurious mart af- 
forded us, of providing ourselves with other and 
less remarkable habiliments than those in which we 
had escaped from that nether world, was too sea- 
sonable not to be gladly taken advantage of by 
both. For myself, the strange mystic garb that I 
wore, was sufficiently concealed by my Grecian 
mantle, which I had luckily thrown round me on 
the night of my watch. But the thin veil of my 
companion was a far less efficient disguise. She 
had, indeed, flung away the golden beetles from 
her hair; but the sacred robe of her order was still 
too visible, and the stars of the bandelet shone 
brightly through her veil. 

Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself of 
this opportunity of a change; and, as she took from 
a casket — which, with the volume I had seen her 
reading, appeared to be her only treasure — a small 
jewel, to exchange for the simple garments she had 
chosen, there fell out, at the same time, the very 
cross of silver, which I had seen her kiss, as may 
be remembered, in' the monumental chapel, and 


94 


which was afterwards pressed to my own lips. 
This link (for such it appeared to my imagination) 
between us, now revived in my heart all the burn- 
ing feelings of that moment — and, had I not ab- 
ruptly turned away, my agitation, would but too 
plainly, have betrayed itself. 

The object, for which we had delayed in this gay 
scene, being accomplished, the sail was again 
spread, and we proceeded on our course up the 
river. The sounds and the lights we left behind 
died gradually away, and we now floated along in 
moonlight and silence once more. Sweet dews, 
worthy of being called “ the tears of Isis,” fell 
through the air, and every plant and flower sent 
its fragrance to meet them. The wind, just strong 
enough to bear us smoothly against the current, 
scarcely stirred the shadow of the tamarisks on the 
water. As the inhabitants, from all quarters, were 
collected at the night fair, the Nile was more than 
usually still and solitary. Such a silence, indeed, 
prevailed, that, as we glided near the shore, we 
could hear the rustling of the acacias, as the cha- 
meleons ran up their stems. It was, altogether, a 
night such as only the clime of Egypt can boast, 
when every thing lies lulled in that sort of bright 
tranquillity, which, we may imagine, shines ove. 
the sleep of those happy spirits, who are supposed 
to rest in the Valley of the Moon, on their way to 
heaven. * 

By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, 
side by side, on the deck of that bark, did we pur- 
sue our course up the lonely Nile — each a mystery 
to the other— our thoughts, our objects, our very 
names a secret; — separated, too, till now, by des- 
tinies so different, the one, a gay voluptuary of the 
Garden of Athens, the other, a secluded Priestess 


95 

of the Temples ot Memphis ; — -and the only rela- 
tion yet established between us being that danger- 
ous one ol love, passionate love, on one side, and 
the most feminine and confiding dependence on the 
other. 

The passing adventure of the night fair, had not 
only dispelled still more our mutual reserve, but 
had supplied ms with a subject on which we could 
converse without embarrassment. From this topic 
I took care to lead on, without interruption, to 
others — fearful lest our former silence should re- 
turn, and the music of her voice again be lost to 
me. It was, indeed, only by thus indirectly un- 
burdening my heart that I was enabled to refrain 
from the full utterance of all I thought and felt; 
and the restless rapidity with which I flew from 
subject to subject, was but an effort to escape from 
the only one in which my heart was interested. 

44 How bright and happy,” said I — pointing up 
to Sothis, the fair Star of the Waters, which was 
just then sparkling brilliantly over our heads — 
44 How bright and happy this world ought to be, if — 
as your Egyptian sages assert— yon pure and beau- 
tiful luminary was its birth-star!” Then, still 
leaning back, and letting my eyes wander over the 
firmament, as if seeking to disengage them from 
the fascination which they dreaded — 44 To the 
study (I said) for ages, of skies like this, may the 
pensive and mystic character of your nation be 
traced. That mixture of pride and melancholy 
which naturally arises, at the sight of those eternal 
lights shining out of darkness; that sublime, but 
saddened, anticipation of a Future, which comes 
over the soul in the silence of such an hour, when, 
though Death seems to reign in the repose of earth, 


96 

there are those beacons of immortality burning in 
the sky — ” 

Pausing, as I uttered the word 44 immortality,” 
with a sigh to think how little my heart echoed to 
my lips, I looked in the face of the maiden, and , 
saw that it had lighted up, as I spoke, into a glow 
of holy animation, such as Faith alone gives— such 
as Hope herself wears, when she is dreaming of 
heaven. Touched by the contrast, and gazing 
upon her with mournful tenderness, I found my 
arms half opened, to clasp her to my heart, while 
the words died away inaudibly upon my lips, — 
“thou, too, beautiful maiden! must thou, too, die 
forever?” 

My self-command, I felt, had nearly deserted 
me. Rising abruptly from my seat, I walked to 
the middle of the deck, and stood, for some mo- 
ments, unconsciously gazing upon one of those 
fires, which — as is the custom of all who travel by 
night upon the Nile, — our boatmen had just kin- 
dled, to scare away the crocodiles from the vessel. 
But it was in vain that I endeavoured to compose 
my spirit. Every effort I made but more deeply 
convinced me, that, till the mystery which hung 
round that maiden should be solved — till the se- 
cret, with which my own bosom laboured, should 
be disclosed — it was fruitless to attempt even a 
semblance of tranquillity. 

My resolution was, therefore, taken; — to lay 
open, at least, my own heart, as far as such a reve- 
lation might be risked, without startling the timid 
innocence of my companion. Thus resolved, I 
returned, with more composure, to my seat by her 
side, and taking from my bosom the small mirror 
which she had dropped in the Temple, and which I 
had ever since worn suspended round my neck, 


97 


with a trembling hand presented it to her view. 
The boatmen had just kindled one of their night- 
fires near us, and its light, as she leaned forward 
towards the mirror, fell on her face. 

The quick blush of surprise with which she re- 
cognised it to be hers, and her look of bashful, yet 
eager, inquiry, in raising her eyes to mine, were 
appeals to which I was not, of course, slow in an- 
swering. Beginning with the first moment when I 
saw her in the Temple, and passing hastily, but 
with words that burned as they went, over the im- 
pression which she had then left upon my heart 
and fancy, I proceeded to describe the particulars 
of my descent into the pyramid — my surprise and 
adoration at the door of the chapel — my encounter 
with the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously pre- 
pared for me, and all the various visionary won- 
ders I had wi tnessed in that region, till the moment 
when I had seen her stealing from under the Veils 
to approach me. 

Though, in detailing these events, I had said but 
little of the feelings they had awakened in me,— 
though my lips had sent back many a sentence, un- 
uttered, there was still enough that could neither 
be subdued nor disguised, and which, like that light 
from under the veils of her own Isis, glowed 
through every word that I spoke. When I told of 
the scene in the chapel, — of the silent interview 
which I had witnessed between the dead and the 
living, — the maiden leaned down her head and 
Wept, as from a heart full of tears. It seemed a 

f >leasure to her, however, to listen; and, when she 
ooked at me again, there was an earnest and af- 
fectionate cordiality in her eyes, as if the know- 
ledge of my having been present at that mournful 
scene, had opened a new source of sympathy and 

i 


08 


intelligence between us. So neighbouring are the 
fountains of Love and of Sorrow, and so impercep- 
tibly do they often mingle their streams. 

Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, 
in my manner and conduct to this innocent girl, 
not all the most experienced gallantry of the Gar- 
den could have dictated a policy half so seductive 
as that which my new master, Love, now taught 
me. The ardour which, shown at once, and with- 
out reserve, might have startled a heart so little 
prepared for it, thus checked and softened by the 
timidity of real love, won its way without alarm, 
and, when most diffident of success, most tri- 
umphed. Like one whose sleep is gradually bro- 
ken by music, the maiden’s heart was awakened 
without being disturbed. She followed the charm, 
unconscious whither it led, nor was aware of the 
flame she had lighted in another’s bosom, till she 
perceived the reflection of it glimmering in her own. 

Impatient as I was to appeal to her generosity 
and sympathy, for a similar proof of confidence to 
that which I had just given, the night was now too 
far advanced for me to impose such a task upon 
her. After exchanging a few words, in which, 
though little was said, there was a tone and man- 
ner that spoke far more than language, we took a 
lingering leave of each other for the night, with 
every prospect of still being together in our 
dreams. 



CHAP. XIII. 

It was so near the dawn of day when we parted, 
that we again found the sun sinking westward 


99 


when we rejoined each other. The smile with 
which she met me, — so frankly cordial, — might 
have been taken for the greeting of a long mellow- 
ed friendship, did not the blush and the castdown 
eyelid, that followed, give symptoms of a feeling 
newer and less calm. For myself, lightened as I 
was, in some degree, by the confession which I 
had made, I was yet too conscious of the new 
aspect thus given to our intercourse, to feel alto- 
gether unembarrassed at the prospect of returning 
to the theme. It was, therefore, willingly we 
both suffered our attention to be diverted, by the 
variety of objects that presented themselves on 
the way, from a subject that both equally trembled 
to approach. 

The river was now full of life and motion. 
Every moment we met with boats descending the 
current, so independent of aid from sail or oar, 
that the sailors sat idly upon the deck as they shot 
along, singing or playing upon their double-reeded 
pipes. Of these boats, the greater number came 
loaded with merchandise from Coptos, — some 
with those large emeralds, from the mine in the 
desert, whose colours, it is said, are brightest at 
the full of the moon, and some laden with frank- 
incense from the acacia-groves near the Red Sea. 
On the decks of others, that had been to the Gold- 
en Mountains beyond Syene, were heaped blocks 
and fragments of that sweet-smelling wood, which 
the Green Nile of Nubia washes down in the sea- 
son of the floods. 

Our companions up the stream were far less nu- 
merous. Occasionally a boat, returning lightened 
from the fair of last night, with those high sails 
that catch every breeze from over the hills, shot 
past us; — while, now and then, we overtook one 


100 


of those barges full of bees, that at this season of 
the year, are sent to colonise the gardens of the 
south, and take advantage of the first flowers after 
the inundation has passed away. 

By these various objects we were, for a short 
time, enabled to divert the conversation from light- 
ing and settling upon the one subject, round which 
it continually hovered. But the effort, as might 
be expected, was not long successful. As even- 
ing advanced, the whole scene became more soli- 
tary. We less frequently ventured to look upon 
each other, and our intervals of silence grew more 
long. 

It was near sunset, when, in passing a small 
temple on the shore, whose porticoes were now 
full of the evening light, we saw, issuing from a 
thicket of acanthus near it, a train of young maids 
linked together in the dance by lotus-stems, held 
at arms’ length between them. Their tresses were 
also wreathed with this emblem of the season, and 
such a profusion of the white flowers were twisted 
round their waists and arms, that they might have 
been taken, as they gracefully bounded along the 
bank, for Nymphs of the Nile, risen freshly from 
their gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few moments at this sacred 
dance, the maid turned away her eyes, with a look 
of pain, as if the remembrances it recalled were 
of no welcome nature. This momentary retros- 
pect, this glimpse into the past, seemed to offer a 
sort of clue to the secret for which I panted ; — 
and, gradually and delicately as my impatience 
would allow, I availed myself of it. Her frank- 
ness, however, saved me the embarrassment of 
much questioning. She even seemed to feel that 
•the confidence I sought was due to me, and be- 


101 


yond the natural hesitation of maidenly modesty, 
not a shade of reserve or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own touching 
words, the simple story which she now related to 
me, would be like endeavouring to note down some 
strain of unpremeditated music, with those fugi- 
tive graces, those felicities of the moment, which 
no art can restore, as they first met the ear. From 
a feeling, too, of humility, she had omitted in her 
narrative some particulars relating to herself, which 
I afterwards learned; — while others, not less im- 
portant, she but slightly passed over, from a fear 
of wounding the prejudices of her heathen hearer. 

I shall, therefore, give her story, as the outline 
which she herself sketched, was afterwards filled 
up by a pious and venerable hand, — far, far more 
worthy than mine of being associated with the 
memory of such purity. 

STORY OF ALETHE. 

“The mother of this maiden was the beautiful 
Theoraof Alexandria, who, though a native of that 
city, was descended from Grecian parents. When 
very young, Theora was one of the seven maidens 
selected, to note down the discourses of the elo- 
quent Origen, who, at that period, presided over 
the School of Alexandria, and was in all the full- 
ness of his fame, both among Pagans and Chris- 
tians. Endowed richly with the learning of botli 
creeds, he brought the natural light of philosophy 
to elucidate the mysteries of faith, anti was only 
proud of his knowledge of the wisdom of this world, 
inasmuch as it ministered to the triumph of divine 
truth. 

“Though he had courted in vain the crown of 

i 2 


102 


martyrdom, it was held, throughout his life, sus- 
pended over his head, and in more than one per- 
secution, he had evinced his readiness to die for 
that faith which he lived but to testify and adorn. 
On one of these occasions, his tormentors, having 
habited him like an Egyptian priest, placed him 
upon the steps of the Temple of Serapis, and com- 
manded that he should, in trie manner of the Pagan 
ministers, present palm-branches to the multitude 
who went up to the shrine. But the courageous 
Christian disappointed their views. Holding forth 
the branches with an unshrinking hand, he cried 
aloud, 4 Come hither and take the branch, not of 
an Idol Temple but of Christ.’ 

44 So indefatigable was this learned Father in his 
studies, that, while composing his Commentary on 
the Scriptures, he was attended by seven scribes 
or notaries, who relieved each other in taking down 
the dictates of his eloquent tongue; while the same 
number of young females, selected for the beauty 
of their penmanship, were employed in arranging 
and transcribing the precious leaves. 

44 Among the scribes so selected, was the fair I 
young Theora, whose parents, though attached to 
the Pagan worship, were not unwilling to profit by 
the accomplishments of their daughter, thus devoted 
to a task which they considered purely mechanical, j 
To the maid herself, however, her task brought far 
other feelings and consequences. She read anxi- 
ously as she wrote, and the divine truths, so elo- 
quently illustrated, found their way by degrees, 
from the page to her heart. Deeply, too, as the 
written words affected her, the discourses from the : 
lips of the great teacher himself, which she had 
frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk still more 
deeply into her mind. There was, at once, a sub- 


103 


iimity and gentleness in his views of religion, which, 
to the tender hearts and lively imaginations of wo- 
men, never failed to appeal with convincing power. 
Accordingly, the list of his female pupils was nu- 
merous; and the names of Barbara, Juliana, Herat's, 
and others, bear honourable testimony to his influ- 
ence over that sex. 

“To Theora, the feeling, with which his dis- 
courses inspired her, was like a new soul, — a con- 
sciousness of spiritual existence, unfelt before. By 
the eloquence of the comment, she was awakened 
into admiration of the text; and when, by the kind- 
ness of a Catechumen of the school, who had been 
struck by her innocent zeal, she, for the first time, 
became possessor of a copy of the Scriptures, she 
could not sleep for thinking of her sacred treasure. 
With a mixture of pleasure and fear, she hid it from 
all eyes, and was like one who had received a di- 
vine guest under her roof, and felt fearful of be- 
traying its divinity to the world. 

“A heart, so awake, would have been easily 
secured to the faith, had her opportunities of hear- 
ing the sacred word continued. But circumstances 
1 arose to deprive her of this advantage. The mild 
Origen, long harassed and thwarted in his labours, 
by the tyranny of the Bishop of Alexandria, De- 
metrius, was obliged to relinquish his school and 
fly from Egypt. The occupation of the fair scribe 
was, therefore, at an end: her intercourse with the 
followers of the new faith ceased; and the growing 
enthusiasm of her heart gave way to more worldly 
impressions. 

“ Love, among the rest, had its share in alienat- 
ing her thoughts from religion. While still very 
young, she became the wife of a Greek adventurer, 
who had come to Egypt as a purchaser of that rich 


104 


tapestry in which the needles of Persia are rivalled 
by the looms of the Nile. Having taken his young 
bride to Memphis, which was still the great mart 
of this merchandise, he there, in the midst of his 
speculations, died, — leaving his widow on the 

f joint of becoming a mother, while, as yet, but in 
ler nineteenth year. 

44 For single and unprotected females, it has 
been, at all times, a favourite resource to seek ad- 
mission into the service of some of those great tem- 
ples, which absorb so much of the wealth and 
power of Egypt. In most of these institutions 
there exists an order of Priestesses, which, though 
not hereditary, like that of the Priests, is provided 
for by ample endowments, and confers that rank 
and station, with which, in a government so theo- 
cratic, Religion is sure td invest even her humblest 
handmaids. From the general policy of the Sa- 
cred College of Memphis, it may be concluded, 
that an accomplished female like Theora, found 
but little difficulty in being chosen one of the 
Priestesses of Isis; and it was in the service of the 
subterranean shrines that her ministry chiefly lay. 

44 Here, a month or two after her admission, 
she gave birth to Alethe, who first opened her eyes 
among the unholy pomps and specious miracles of 
this mysterious region. Though Theora, as we 
have seen, had been diverted by other feelings 
from her first enthusiasm for the Christian faith, 
she had never wholly forgot the impression then 
made upon her. The sacred volume, which the 
pious Catechumen had given her, was still trea- 
sured with care; and, though she seldom opened 
its pages, there was an idea of sanctity associated 
with it in her memory, and often would she sit to 
look upon it with reverential pleasure, recalling 


105 

the happiness she felt when it was first made her 
own. 

“The leisure of her new retreat, and the lone 
melancholy of widowhood, led her still more fre- 
quently to indulge in such thoughts, and to recur 
to those consoling truths which she had heard in 
the school of Alexandria. She now began to pur- 
sue eagerly the sacred book, drinking deep of the 
fountain of which she before but tasted, and feel- 
ing — what thousands of mourners, since her, have 
felt — that Christianity is the true religion of the 
sorrowful. 

“ This study of her secret hours became still 
more dear to her, from the peril with which, at that 
period, it was attended, and the necessity she was 
under of concealing, from those around her, the pre- 
cious light that had been kindled in her heart. 
Too timid to encounter the fierce persecution, 
which awaited all who were suspected of a leaning 
to Christianity, she continued to officiate in the 
pomps and ceremonies of the Temple; — though, 
often, with such remorse of soul, that she would 
pause, in the midst of the rites, and pray inwardly 
to God, that he would forgive this profanation of 
his Spirit. 

“ In the mean time her daughter, the young 
Alethe, grew up still lovelier than herself, and ad- 
ded, every hour, to her happiness and her fears. 
When arrived at a sufficient age, she was taught, 
like the other children of the priestesses, to take 
a share in the service and ceremonies of the shrines. 
The duty of some of these young servitors was to 
look after the flowers for the altar; — of others, to 
take care that the sacred vases were filled every 
day with fresh water from the Nile. The task of 
some was to preserve, in perfect polish, those sil- 


106 


ver images of the moon which the priests carried 
in processions; while others were, as we have seen, 
employed in feeding the consecrated animals, and 
in keeping their plumes and scales bright, for the 
admiring eyes of their worshippers. 

‘‘The office allotted to Aletlie — the most ho- 
nourable of these minor ministries — was to wait 
upon the sacred birds of the Moon, to feed them 
with those eggs from the Nile which they loved, 
and provide for their use that purest water, which 
alone these delicate birds will touch. This em- 
ployment was the delight of her childish hours; 
and that ibis, which Alciphron (the Epicurean) 
saw her dance round in the Temple, was her fa- 
vourite, of all the sacred flock, and had been daily 
fondled and fed by her from infancy. 

“ Music, as being one of the chief spells of this 
enchanted region, was an accomplishment required 
of all its ministrants; and the harp, the lyre, and 
the sacred flute, sounded nowhere so sweetly as 
that through these subterranean gardens. The 
chief object, indeed, in the education of the youth 
of the Temple, was to fit them, by every graee of 
art and nature, to give effect to the illusion of those 
shows and phantasms, in which the whole charm 
and secret of Initiation lay. 

“Among the means employed to support the 
old system of superstition, against the infidelity, 
and, still more, the new Faith that menaced it, 
was an increased display of splendour and marvels 
in those Mysteries for which Egypt has so long 
been celebrated. Of these ceremonies, so many 
imitations had, under various names, been multi- 
plied through Europe, that the parent superstition 
ran a risk of being eclipsed by its progeny; and, in 
order still to retain their rank of the first Priest- 


107 


hood in the world, those of Egypt found it neces- 
sary to continue still the best impostors. 

44 Accordingly, every contrivance that art could 
devise, or labour execute — every resource that the 
wonderful knowledge of the Priests, in pyrotech- 
ny, mechanics, and dioptrics, could command, was 
brought into action to heighten the effect of their 
Mysteries, and give an air of enchantment to eve- 
ry thing connected with them. 

44 The final scene of beatification — the Elysium, 
into which the Initiate was received — formed, of 
course, the leading attraction of these ceremonies; 
and to render it captivating alike to the senses of 
the man of pleasure, and the imagination of the 
spiritualist, was the object to which the whole 
skill and attention of the Sacred College were de- 
j voted. By the influence of the Priests of Mem- 
i phis over those of the other Temples, they had suc- 
ceeded in extending their subterranean frontier, 
both to the north and south, so as to include, with- 
in their ever-lighted Paradise, some of the gardens 
excavated for the use of the other Twelve Shrines. 

44 The beauty of the young Alethe, the touching 
sweetness of her voice, and the sensibility that 
breathed throughout her every look and movement, 
rendered her a powerful auxiliary in such appeals 
to the imagination. She was, accordingly, from 
her childhood, selected from among her fair com- 
panions, as the most worthy representative of 
spiritual loveliness, in those pictures of Elysium — - 
those scenes of another world — by which not only 
the fancy, but the reason, of the excited Aspirants 
was dazzled. 

44 To the innocent child herself these shows 
were pastime. But to Theora, who knew too well 
the imposition to which they were subservient, 


108 


this profanation of all that she loved, was a per- 
petual source of horror and remorse. Often would 
she — when Alethe — stood smiling before her, ar- 
rayed, perhaps, as a spirit of the Elysian world, — 
turn away, with a shudder, from the happy child, 
almost fancying that she already saw the shadows 
of sin descending over that innocent brow, as she 
gazed on it. 

“As the intellect of the young maid became 
more active and inquiring, the apprehensions and 
difficulties of the mother increased. Afraid to 
communicate her own precious secret, lest she 
should involve her child in the dangers that en- 
compassed it, she yet felt it to be no less a cruelty 
than a crime, to leave her wholly immersed in the 
darkness of Paganism. In this dilemma, the onlj 
resource that remained to her was to select, ano 
disengage, from the dross that surrounded them, 
those pure particles of truth which lie at the bot 
tom of all religions; — those feelings, rather than 
doctrines, which God has never left his creatures 
without, and which, in all ages, have furnished, to 
those who sought it, some clue to his glory. 

“The unity and perfect goodness of the Crea- 
tor; the fall of the human soul into corruption; 
its struggles with the darkness of this world, and 
its final redemption and re-ascent to the source of 
all spirit; — these natural solutions of the problem 
of our existence, these elementary grounds of all 
religion and virtue, which Theora had heard illus- 
trated by her Christian teacher, lay also, she knew, 
veiled under the theology of Egypt; and to impress 
them, in all their abstract purity, upon the mind 
of her susceptible pupil, was, in default of more 
heavenly lights, her sole ambition and care. 

“It was their habit, after devoting their morn- 


109 


ings to the service of the Temple, to pass their 
evenings and nights in one of those small man- 
sions above ground, allotted to some of the most 
favoured Priestesses, in the precincts of the Sa- 
cred College. Here, out of the reach of those 
gross superstitions, which pursued them, at every 
step below, she endeavoured to inform, as far as 
she might, the mind of her beloved girl; and found 
it lean as naturally and instinctively to truth, as 
plants that have been long shut up in darkness 
will, when light is let in, incline themselves to its 
ray. 

64 Frequently, as they sat together on the ter- 
race at night, contemplating that assembly of glo- 
rious stars, whose beauty first misled mankind 
into idolatry, she would explain to the young lis- 
tener, by wnat gradations it was that the worship, 
thus transferred from the Creator to the creature, 
sunk lower and lower in the scale of being, till 
man, at length, presumed to deify man, and by 
the most monstrous of inversions, heaven was made 
the mirror of earth, reflecting all its most earthly 
features. 

“Even in the Temple itself, the anxious mother 
would endeavour to interpose her purer lessons 
among the idolatrous ceremonies in which they 
were engaged. When the favourite ibis of Alethe 
took its station on the shrine, and the young maid- 
en was seen approaching, with all the gravity of wor- 
ship, the very bird which she had played with but 
an hour before, — when the acacia-bough, which 
she herself had plucked, seemed to acquire a sud- 
den sacredness in her eyes, as soon as the priest 
had breathed on it, — on all such occasions Theora, 
though with tear and trembling, would venture to 
suggest to the youthful worshipper the distinction 

K 


110 


that should be drawn between the sensible object 
of adoration, and that spiritual, unseen Deity, of 
which it was but the remembrancer or type. 

66 With sorrow, however, she soon discovered 
that, in thus but partially enlightening a mind too 
ardent to be satisfied with such glimmerings, she 
only bewildered the heart that she meant to guide, 
and cut down the hope round which its faith twined, 
without substituting any other support in its place. 
As the beauty, too, of Alethe began to attract all 
eyes, new fears crowded upon the mother’s heart; 
— fears, in which she was but too much justified by 
the characters of some of those around her. 

“In this sacred abode, as may easily be con- 
ceived, morality did not always go hand in hand 
with religion. The hypocritical and ambitious 
Orcus, who was, at this period, High Priest of 
Memphis, was a man, in every respect, qualified 
to preside over a system of such splendid fraud. 
He had reached that effective time of life, when 
enough of the warmth of youth remains to give ani- 
mation to the counsels of age. But, in his instance, 
youth had only the baser passions to bequeath, 
while age but contributed a more refined maturity 
of mischief. The advantages of a faith appealing 
so wholly to the senses, were well understood by 
him; nor was he ignorant that the only way of 
making religion subservient to his own interests, 
was by shaping it adroitly to the passions of others, i 

The state of misery and remorse in which the 
mind of Theora was kept by the scenes, however -j 
veiled by hypocrisy, which she witnessed around } 
her, became at length intolerable. No perils that : 
the cause of truth could bring with it, would be 
half so dreadful as this endurance of sinfulness and 
deceit. Her child was, as yet, pure and innocent • * 


Ill 


—but, without that sentinel of the soul, Religion, 
how long might she continue so? 

“ This thought, at once, decided her; — all other 
fears vanished before it. She resolved instantly to 
lay open to Alethe the whole secret of her soul; to 
make her, who was her only hope on earth, the 
sharer of all her hopes in heaven, and then fly with 
her, as soon as possible, from this unhallowed 
place, to the desert — to the mountains — to any 
place, however desolate, where God and the con- 
sciousness of innocence might be with them. 

“ The promptitude with which her young pupil 
caught from her the divine truths, was even beyond 
what she expected. It was like the lighting of one 
torch at another, — so prepared was Alethe’s mind 
for the illumination. Amply was the mother now 
repaid for all her misery, by this perfect commu- 
nion of love and faith, and by the delight with 
which she saw her beloved child — like the young 
antelope, when first led by her dam to the well, — 
drink thirstily by her side, at the source of all life 
and truth. 

“ But such happiness was not long to last. The 
anxieties that Theora had suffered, preyed upon her 
health. She felt her strength daily decline; and 
the thoughts of leaving, alone and unguarded in 
the world, that treasure which she had just devoted 
to heaven, gave her a feeling of despair which but 
hastened the ebb of life. Had she put in practice 
her resolution of flying from this place, her child 
might have been, now, beyond the reach of all she 
dreaded, and in the solitude of the wilderness 
would have found, at least, safety from wrong. 
But the very happiness she had felt in her new task 
diverted her from this project; — and it was now too 
late, for she was already dying. 


112 


44 She concealed, however, her state from the 
tender and sanguine girl, who, though she saw the 
traces of disease on her mother’s cheek, little knew 
that they were the hastening footsteps of death, nor 
thought even of the possibility of .losing what was 
so dear to her. Too soon, however, the moment of 
separation arrived; and while the anguish and dis- 
may of Alethe, were in proportion to the security 
in which she had indulged, Theora, too, felt, with 
bitter regret, that she had sacrificed to her fond 
consideration much precious time, and that there 
now remained but a few brief and painful moments, 
for the communication of all those wishes and in- 
structions, on which the future destiny of the 
young orphan depended. 

44 She had, indeed, time for little more than to 
place the sacred volume solemnly in her hands, to 
implore that she would, at all risks, fly from this 
unholy place, and, pointing in the direction of the 
mountains of the Said, to name, with her last breath, 
the holy man, to whom, under heaven, she trusted 
for the protection and salvation of her child. 

4 4 The first violence of feeling, to which Alethe 
gave way, was succeeded by a fixed and tearless 
grief, which rendered her insensible, for some time, 
to the dangers of her situation. Her only comfort 
was in visiting that monumental chapel, where the 
beautiful remains of Theora lay. There, night 
after night, in contemplation of those placid fea- 
tures, and in prayers for the peace of the departed 
spirit, did she pass her lonely, and — sad as they 
were — happiest hours. Though the mystic em- 
blems that decorated that chapel, were but ill suited 
to the slumber of a Christian saint, there was one 
among them, the Cross, which, by a remarkable 
coincidence, is an emblem common alike to the 


113 


Gentile and the Christian, — being, to the former, 
a shadowy type of that immortality, of which, to 
the latter, it is a substantial and assuring pledge. 

“Nightly, upon this cross, which she had often 
seen her lost mother kiss, did she breathe forth a 
solemn and heartfelt vow, never to abandon the 
faith which that departed spirit had bequeathed to 
her. To such enthusiasm, indeed, did her heart 
at such moments rise, that, but for the last injunc- 
tions from those pallid lips, she would, at once, 
have avowed her perilous secret, and spoken out 
the words, 4 1 am a Christian, 5 among those be- 
nighted shrines! 

“ But the will of her, to whom she owed more 
than life, was to be obeyed. To escape from this 
haunt of superstition must now, she felt, be her 
first object; and, in devising the means of effecting 
it, her mind, day and night, was employed. It 
was with a loathing not to be concealed, she now 
found herself compelled to resume her idolatrous 
services at the shrine. To some of the offices of 
Theora she succeeded, as is the custom, by inheri- 
tance; and in the performance of these — sanctified, 
as they were, in her eyes by the pure spirit she 
had seen engaged in them — there was a sort of 
melancholy pleasure in which her sorrow found re- 
lief. But the part she was again forced to take, in 
the scenic shows of the Mysteries, brought with it 
a sense of wrong and degradation which she could 
no longer bear. 

“She had already formed, in her own mind, a 
plan of escape, in which her knowledge of all the 
windings of this subterranean realm gave her con- 
fidence, when the reception of Alciphron, as an 
Initiate, took place. 

“ From the first moment of the landing of that 

k 2 


114 


philosopher at Alexandria, he had become an ob- 
ject of suspicion and watchfulness to the inquisi- 
torial Orcus, whom philosophy in any shape natu- 
rally alarmed, but to whom the sect, over which the 
young Athenian presided, was particularly obnoxi- 
ous. The accomplishments of Alciphron, his popu- 
larity, wherever he went, and the freedom with 
which lie indulged his wit, at the expense of reli- 
gion, was all faithfully reported to the High Priest 
by his spies, and stirred up within him no kindly 
feelings towards the stranger. In dealing with an 
infidel, such a personage as Orcus could know no 
alternative but that of either converting or destroy- 
ing him: and though his spite as a man, would have 
been more gratified by the latter proceeding, his 
pride as a priest, led him to prefer the triumph 
of the former. 

“The first descent of the Epicurean into the 
pyramid was speedily known, and the alarm imme- 
diately given to the priests below. As soon as it 
was discovered that the young philosopher of 
Athens was the intruder, and that he still conti- J 
nued to linger round the pyramid, looking often 
and wistfully towards the portal, it was concluded I 
that his curiosity would impel him to try a second J 
descent; and Orcus, blessing the good chance which | 
had thus brought the wild bird to his net, deter- J 
mined not to allow an opportunity so precious to ) 
be wasted. * 

“ Instantly, the whole of that wonderful rnachi- ] 
nery, by which the phantasms and illusions -of Ini- | 
tiation are produced, were put in active prepara- J 
tion throughout that subterranean realm; and the 1 
increased stir aifd watchfulness excited among its 
inmates, by this more than ordinary display of all 
the resources of priestcraft, rendered the accom- ' 


plishment of Alethe’s design, at such a moment, 
peculiarly difficult. Wholly ignorant of the share 
which had fallen to herself, in attracting the young- 
philosopher down to this region, she but heard of 
him vaguely, as the Chief of a great Grecian sect, 
who had been led, by either curiosity or accident, 

| to expose himself to the first trials of Initiation, 
j and whom the priests, she sa,w, were endeavouring 
| to ensnare in their toils, by every art and skill 
with which their science of darkness had gifted 
. them. 8 

To her mind, the image of a philosopher, such 
as Alciphron had been represented to her, came 
associated with ideas of age and reverence; and, 
more than once, the possibility of his being made 
instrumental to her deliverance, flashed a hope 
across her heart in which she could not help in- 
dulging. Often had she been told by Theora of 
the many Gentile sages, who had laid their wisdom 
down humbly at the foot of the Cross; and though 
this Initiate, she feared, could hardly be among the 
number, yet the rumours which she had gathered 
from the servants of the Temple, of his undisguised 
contempt for the errors of heathenism, led her to 
hope she might find tolerance, if not sympathy, in 
her appeal to him. 

66 Nor was it solely with a view to her owit 
chance of deliverance, that she thus connected him 
in her thoughts with the plan which she meditated. 
The look of proud and self-gratulating malice, with 
which the High Priest had mentioned this 4 infidel,’ 
as he styled him, when instructing her in the 
scene she was to enact before the philosopher in 
the valley, but too plainly informed her of the 
destiny that hung over him. She knew how many 
were the hapless candidates for Initiation, who 


1 16 


had been doomed to a durance worse than that of 
the grave, for but a word, a whisper breathed 
against the sacred absurdities which they witness- 
ed; and it was evident to her that the venerable 
Greek (for such her fancy represented Alciphron) 
was no less interested in escaping from this region 
than herself. 

“ Her own resolution was, at all events, fixed. 
That visionary scene, in which she had appeared 
before Alciphron, — little knowing how ardent 
were the heart and imagination, over which her 
beauty, at that moment, shed its whole influence, 
was, she solemnly resolved, the very last unholy 
service, that superstition or imposture should ever 
command of her. 

“On the following night the Aspirant was to 


watch in the Great Temple of Isis. 



portunity of approaching and addressing him might 
never come again. Should he, from compassion 
for her situation, or a sense of the danger of his 
own, consent to lend his aid to her flight, most 
gladly would she accept it, — assured that no dan- 
ger or treachery she might risk, could be half so 
dreadful as those she left behind. Should he, on 
the contrary, refuse, her determination was equal- 
ly fixed — to trust to that God, who watches over 
the innocent, and go forth alone. 

“ To reach the island in Lake Mocris was her 
first object, and there occurred luckily, at this 
time, a mode of accomplishing it, by which the 
difficulty and dangers of the attempt would be, in 
a great degree, diminished. The day of the an- 
nual visitation of the High Priest to the Place of 
Weeping — as that island in the centre of the lake 
is called — was now fast approaching; and Alethe 
well knew that the self-moving car, by which the 


117 


High Priest and one of the Hierophants are con- 
veyed to the chambers under the lake, stood wait- 
ing in readiness. By availing herself of this ex- 
pedient, she would gain the double advantage both 
of facilitating her own flight and retarding the 
speed of her pursuers. 

44 Having paid a last visit to the tomb of her 
beloved mother, and wept there, long and passion- 
ately, till her heart almost failed in die struggle, — ■ 
having paused, too, to give a kiss to her favourite 
ibis, which, though too much a Christian to wor- 
ship, she was still child enough to love, — with a 
trembling step she went early to the Sanctuary, 
and hid herself in one of the recesses of the Shrine. 
Her intention was to steal out from thence to Al- 
ciphron, while it was yet dark, and before the il- 
lumination of the great Statue behind the Veils 
had begun. But her fears delayed her till it was 
almost too late; — already was the image lighted 
up, and still she remained trembling in her hiding 
place. 

44 In a few minutes more the mighty Veils would 
have been withdrawn, and the glories of that scene 
of enchantment laid open — when, at length, sum- 
moning up courage, and taking advantage of a 
momentary absence of those employed in the pre- 
parations of this splendid mockery, she stole from 
under the Veil and found her way, through the 
gloom, to the Epicurean. There was then no time 
for explanation; — she had but to trust to the sim- 
ple words, 4 Follow, and be silent ; 5 and the im- 
plicit readiness with which she found them obeyed, 
filled her with no less surprise than the philoso- 
pher himself felt in hearing them. 

44 In a second or two they were on their way 
through the subterranean windings, leaving the 


118 


ministers of Isis to waste their splendours on va- 
cancy, through a long series of miracles and visions 
which they now exhibited — unconscious that he, 
whom they took such pains to dazzle, was already, 
under the guidance of the young Christian, re- 
moved beyond the reach of their spells . 99 

l 

CHAP. XIV. 

Such was the story, of which this innocent girl 
gave me, in her own touching language, the out- 
line. 

The sun was was just rising as she finished her 
narrative. Fearful of encountering the expression 
of those feelings with which, she could not but ob- 
serve, I was affected by her recital, scarcely had 
she concluded the last sentence, when, rising ab- 
ruptly from her seat, she hurried into the pavilion, 
leaving me with the words already crowding for 
utterance to my lips. 

Oppressed by the various emotions, thus sent 
back upon my heart, I lay down on the deck in a 
state of agitation, that defied even the most distant 
approaches of sleep. While every word she had 
uttered, every feeling she expressed, but minister- 
ed new fuel to that flame within me, to describe 
which, passion is too weak a word, there was also 
much of her recital that disheartend, that alarmed 
me. To find a Christian thus under the garb of a 
Memphian Priestess, was a discovery that, had my 
heart been less deeply interested, would but have 
more powerfully stimulated my imagination and 
pride. But, when I recollected the austerity of 
the faith she had embraced — the tender and sacred 


119 


tie, associated with it in her memory, and the de- 
votion of woman’s heart to objects thus conse- 
crated — her very perfections but widened the dis- 
tance between us, and all that most kindled my 
passion at the same time chilled my hopes. 

Were we left to each other, as on this silent 
river, in this undisturbed communion of thoughts 
and feelings, I knew too well, 1 thought, both her 
sex’s nature and my own, to feel a doubt that 
love would ultimately triumph. But the severity 
of the guardianship to which I must resign her— 
some monk of the desert, some stern Solitary — the 
influence such a monitor would gain over her mind, 
and the horror with which, ere long, she would be 
taught to regard the reprobate infidel on whom she 
now smiled — in all this prospect I saw nothing but 
despair. After a few short hours, my happiness 
j would be at an end, and such a dark chasm open 
between our fates, as must sever them, far as earth 
is from heaven, asunder. 

It was true, she was now wholly in my power. 
I feared no witnesses but those of earth, and the 
solitude of the desert was at hand. But though I 
acknowledged not a heaven, I worshipped her who 
was, to me, its type and substitute. If, at any 
moment, a single thought of wrong or deceit, to- 
wards a creature so sacred, arose in my mind, one 
look from her innocent eyes averted the sacrilege. 
Even passion itself felt a holy fear in her presence, 
— like the flame trembling in the breeze of the 
sanctuary, — and Love, pure Love, stood in place 
of Religion. 

As long as I knew not her story, I might indulge, 
at least, in dreams of the future. But, now — what 
hope, what prospect remained? My sole chance 
of happiness lay in the feeble hope of beguiling 


120 


away lier thoughts from the plan which she medi- 
tated; of weaning her, by persuasion, from that 
austere faith, which I had before hated and now 
feared, and of — attaching her, perhaps, alone and 
unlinked as she was in the world, to my own for- 
tunes forever! 

In the agitation of these thoughts, I* had started 
from my resting-place, and continued to pace up 
and down, under a burning sun, till, exhausted 
both by thought and feeling, I sunk down, amid its 
blaze, into a sleep, which, to my fevered brain, 
seemed a sleep of fire. 

On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe laid care- 
fully over my brow, while she, herself sat near me, 
under the shadow of the sail, looking anxiously at 
that leaf, which her mother had given her, and ap- 
parently employed in comparing, its outlines with 
the course of the river and the forms of the rocky 
hills by which we passed. She looked pale and 
troubled, and rose eagerly to meet me, as if she had 
long and impatiently waited for my waking. 

Her heart, it was plain, had been disturbed from 
its security, and was beginning to take alarm at its 
own feelings. But, though vaguely conscious of j 
the peril to which she was exposed, her reliance, I 
as is usually the case, increased with her danger, 
and on me, far more than on herself, did she de- J 
pend for saving her from it. To reach, as soon as ■' 
possible, her asylum in the desert, was now the 
urgent object of her entreaties and wishes; and the j 
self-reproach she expressed at having permitted i 
her thoughts to be diverted, for a single moment 
from this sacred purpose, not only revealed the . 
truth, that she had forgotten it, but betrayed even \ 
a glimmering consciousness of the cause. 

Her sleep, she said, had been broken by ill- 


121 


omened dreams. Every moment the shade of her 
mother had stood before her, rebuking her, with 
mournful looks, for her delay, and pointing, as she 
had done in death, to the eastern hills. Bursting 
into tears at this accusing recollection, she hastily 
placed the leaf, which she had been examining, in 
my hands, and implored that I would ascertain, 
without a moment’s delay, what portion of our 
voyage was still unperformed, and in what space 
of time we might hope to accomplish it. 

I had, still less than herself, taken note of either 
place or distance; and, had we been left to glide 
on in this dream of happiness, should never have 
thought of pausing to ask where it would end. But 
such confidence, I felt, was too sacred to be de- 
ceived. Reluctant as I was, naturally, to enter 
on an inquiry, which might so soon dissipate even 
my last hope, her wish was sufficient to supersede 
even the selfishness of love, and on the instant I 
proceeded to obey her will. 

There is, on the eastern bank of the Nile, to the 
north of Antinoe, a high and steep rock, impend- 
ing over the flood, which for ages, from a prodigy 
connected with it, has borne the name of the 
Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, it is said, at a 
certain season and hour, large flocks of birds as- 
semble in the ravine, of which this rocky mountain 
forms one of the sides, and are there observed to 
go through the mysterious ceremony of inserting 
each its beak into a particular cleft of the rock, 
till the cleft closes upon one of their number, when 
the rest, taking wing, leave the selected victim to 
die. 

Through the ravine where this charm— for such 
the multitude consider it — is worked, there ran, 
in ancient times, a canal from the Nile, to some 

L 


122 


great and forgotten city that now lies buried iif the 
desert. To a short distance from the river this 
canal still exists, but, soon after having passed 
through the defile, its scanty waters disappear alto- 
gether, and are lost under the sands. 

It was in the neighbourhood of this place, as I 
could collect from the delineations on the leaf, — 
where a flight of birds represented the name of 
the mountain, — that the dwelling of the Solitary, 
to whom Alethe was bequeathed, lay. Imperfect 
as was my knowledge of the geography of Egypt, 
it at once struck me, that we had long since left 
this mountain behind; and, on inquiring of our 
boatmen, I found my conjecture confirmed. We 
had, indeed, passed it, as appeared, on the pre- 
ceding night; and, as the wind had, ever since, 
blown strongly from the north, and the sun was 
already declining towards the horizon, we must 
now be, at least, an ordinary day’s sail to the ! 
southward of the spot. 

At this discovery, I own, my heart felt a joy j 
which I could with difficulty conceal. It seemed j| 
to me as if fortune was conspiring with love, and, 
by thus delaying the moment of our separation, af- 
forded me at least a chance of happiness. Her 
look, too, and manner, when informed of our mis- 
take, rather encouraged than chilled this secret 
hope. In the first moment of astonishment, her 
eyes opened upon me with a suddenness of splen- 
dour, under which I felt my own wink, as if light- 
ning had crossed them. But she again, as sud- \ 
denly, let their lids fall, and, after a quiver of her I 
lip, which showed the conflict of feeling within, 
crossed her, arms upon her bosom, and looked si- 
lently down upon the deck — her whole counte-J 
nance sinking into an expression, sad, but resigned, 


123 


as if she felt, with me, that fate was on the side 
of wrong, and saw Love already stealing between 
iier soul and heaven. 

I was not slow in availing myself of what I fan- 
cied to be the irresolution of her mind. But, fear- 
ful of exciting alarm by any appeal to tenderer 
feelings, I but addressed myself to her imagina- 
tion, and to that love of novelty, which is forever 
fresh in the youthful breast. We were now ap- 
proaching that region of wonders, Thebes. “In 
a day or two,” said I, “we shall see, towering 
above the waters, the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, 
and the bright Obelisks of the Sun. We shall 
visit the plain of Memnon, and those mighty 
statues, that fling their shadows at sunrise over the 
Libyan hills. We shall hear the image of the Son 
of the morning answering to the first touch of light. 
From thence, in a few hours, a breeze like this 
will transport us to those sunny islands near the 
cataracts; there, to wander, among the sacred 
palm-groves of Philae, or sit, at noon-tide hour, in 
those cool alcoves, which the waterfall of Syene 
shadows under its arch. Oh, who, with such 
scenes of loveliness within' reach, would turn cold- 
ly away to the bleak desert, and leave this fair 
world, with all its enchantments, shining behind 
them, unseen and unenjoyed? At least” — I add- 
ed, tenderly taking her by the hand — “ at least let 
a few more days be stolen from the dreary fate to 
which thou hast devoted thyself, and then ” 

She had heard but the last few words — the rest 
had been lost upon her. Startled by the tone of 
tenderness, into which, in spite of all my resolves, 
my voice had softened, she looked for an instant in 
my face with passionate earnestness — then, drop- 
ping upon her knees with her clasped hands up- 


raised, exclaimed — “ Tempt me not, in the namer 
of God I implore thee, tempt me not to swerve 
from my sacred duty. Oh, take me instantly to 
that desert mountain, and I will bless thee for- 
ever. 99 

This appeal, I felt, could not be resisted though 
my heart were to break for it. Having silently 
expressed my assent to her prayer, by a pressure 
of her hand as I raised her from the deck, I hast- 
ened, as we were still in full career for the south, 
to give orders that our sail should be instantly 
lowered, and not a moment lost in retracing our 
course. 

In proceeding, however, to give these directions, 
it, for the first time, occurred to me, that, as I had 
hired this yacht in the neighbourhood of Memphis, 
where it was probable that the flight of the young 
fugitive would be most vigilantly tracked, we 
should act imprudently in betraying to the boat- 
men the place of her retreat — and the present 
seemed the most favourable opportunity of evading 
such a danger. Desiring, therefore, that we should 
be landed at a small village on the shore, under 
pretence of paying a visit to some shrine in the 
neighbourhood, I there dismissed our barge, and 
was relieved from fear of further observation, by 
seeing it again set sail, and resume its course 
fleetly up the current. 

From the boats of all descriptions that lay idle 
beside the bank, I now selected one, which, in 
every respect, suited my purpose, — being, in its 
shape and accommodations, a miniature of our 
former vessel, but so small and light as to be ma- 
nageable by myself alone, and, with the advantage 
of the current, requiring little more than a hand 
to steer it. This boat I succeeded, without much 


125 


difficulty, in purchasing, and, after a short delay, 
we were again afloat down the current,* — the sun 
just then sinking, in conscious glory, over his 
own golden shrines in the Libyan waste. 

The evening was more calm and lovely than any 
that yet had smiled upon our voyage ; and, as we 
left the bank, there came soothingly over our ears 
a strain of sweet, rustic melody from the shore. 
It was the voice of a young Nubian girl, whom we 
saw kneeling on the bank before an acacia, and 
singing, while her companions stood round, the 
wild song of invocation, which, in her country, 
they address to that enchanted tree: — 

“ Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

We pray, we pray, to thee ; 

By the glow of thy golden fruit, 

And the violet hue of thy flower, 

And the greeting mute 
Of thy bough’s salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower.* 

II. 

“ Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

How the traveller blesses thee, 

When the night no moon allows, 

And the sun-set hour is near, 

And thou bend’st thy boughs 
To kiss his brows, 

Saying, ‘ Come rest thee here.’ 

Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

Thus bow thy head to me !” 

In the burden of this song the companions of the 
young Nubian joined •, and we heard the words, 
6 4 Oh! Abyssinian tree,” dying away on the breeze, 
long after the whole group had been lost to our 
eyes. 

* See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends 
down its branches to those who approach it, in M. Jomard’s 
Description of Syene and the Cataracts. 

L 2 


m 


Whether, in this new arrangement which I had 
made for our voyage, any motive, besides those 
which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, even 
myself, so bewildered were my feelings, deter- 
mine. But no sooner had the current borne us 
away from all human dwellings, and we were 
alone on the waters, with not a soul near, than I 
felt how closely such solitude draws hearts to- 
gether, and how much more we seemed to belong 
to each other, than when there were eyes around. 

The same feeling, but without the same sense 
of its danger, was manifest in every look and word 
of Alethe. The consciousness of the one great 
effort she had made, appeared to have satisfied her 
heart on the score of duty, — while the devotedness 
with which she saw I attended to her every wish, 
was felt with all that gratitude which, in woman, 
is the day-spring of love. She was, therefore, 
happy, innocently happy; and the confiding, and 
even affectionate, unreserve of her manner, while 
it rendered my trust more sacred, made it also far 
more difficult. 

It was only, however, on subjects unconnected 
with our situation or fate, that she yielded to such 
interchange of thought, or that her voice ventured 
to answer mine. The moment I alluded to the 
destiny that awaited us, all her cheerfulness fled, 
and she became saddened and silent. When I de- 
scribed to her the beauty of my own native land — 
its founts of inspiration and fields of glory — her 
eyes sparkled with sympathy, and sometimes even 
softened into fondness. But when I ventured to 
whisper, that, in, that glorious country, a life full 
of love and liberty awaited her; when I proceeded 
to contrast the adoration and bliss she might com- 
mand, with the gloomy austerities of the life to 


- 


127 

which she was hastening,— it was like the coming 
of a sudden cloud over a summer sky. Her head 
sunk, as she listened 5 — I waited in vain for an an- 
swer; and when, half playfully reproaching her for 
this silence, I stooped to take her hand, I could 
feel the warm tears fast falling over it. 

But even this — little hope as it held out— was 
happiness. Though it foreboded that I should lose 
her, it also whispered that I was loved. Like that 
lake in the Land of Roses,* whose waters are half 
sweet, half bitter, I felt my fate to be a compound 
of bliss and pain, — but the very pain well worth 
all ordinary bliss. 

And thus did the hours of that night pass along; 
while every moment shortened our happy dream, 
and the current seemed to flow with a swifter pace 
than any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a 
feature of the whole scene but is, at this moment, 
freshly in my memory; — the broken star-light on 
the water; — the rippling sound of the boat, as, 
without oar or sail, it went, like a thing of enchant- 
ment, down the stream;— the scented fire, burning 
beside us on the deck, and, oh, that face, on which 
its light fell, still revealing, as it turned, some new 
charm, some blush or look, more beautiful than the 
last. 

Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of all else in 
this world, our boat left wholly to itself, would 
drive from its course, and bearing us to the bank, 
get entangled in the water-flowers, or be caught in 
some eddy, ere I perceived where we were. Once, 
too, when the rustling of my oar among the flowers 
had startled away from the bank some wild ante- 
lopes, that had stolen, at that still hour, to drink of 


* The province of Arsinde, now Fioum. 


128 


the Nile, what an emblem, I thought it, of the 
young heart beside me, — tasting, for the first time, 
of hope and love, and so soon, alas, to be scared 
from their sweetness forever! 


CHAP. XV. 

The night was now far advanced; — the bend of 
our course towards the. left, and the closing in of 
the eastern hills upon the river, gave warning of our 
approach to the hermit’s dwelling. Every minute, 
now, seemed like the last of existence; and I felt a 
sinking of despair at my heart, which would have 
been intolerable, had not a resolution that sud- 
denly, and as if by inspiration, occurred to me, 
presented a glimpse of hope, which in some degree, 
calmed my feelings. 

Much as I had, all my life, despised hypocrisy, 
—the very sect I had embraced, being chiefly re- 
commended to me by the war, which they waged 
on the cant of all others, — it was, nevertheless, in 
hypocrisy that I now scrupled not to take refuge 
from, what I dreaded more than shame or death, 
my separation from Alethe. In my despair, I 
adopted the humiliating plan — deeply humiliating 
as I felt it to be, even amid the joy with which I 
welcomed it — of offering myself to this hermit, as 
a convert to his faith, and thus becoming the fellow- 
disciple of Alethe under his care! 

From the moment l resolved upon this plan, my 
spirit felt lightened. Though having fully before 
my eyes the labyrinth of imposture, into which it 
would lead me, I thought of nothing but the chance 
of ouf being still together: — in this hope, all pride. 


all philosophy was forgotten, and every thing 
seeded tolerable, but the prospect of losing her. 

Thus resolved, it was with somewhat less re- 
luctant feelings, that I now undertook, at the anxi- 
ous desire of Alethe, to ascertain the site of that 
well-known mountain, in the neighbourhood . of 
which the dwelling of the anchoret lay. We had 
already passed one or two stupendous rocks, which 
stood, detached, like fortresses, over the river’s 
brink, and which, in some degree, corresponded 
with the description on the leaf. So little was 
there of life now stirring along the shores, that I 
had begun almost to despair of any assistance from 
inquiry, when on looking to the western bank, I 
saw a boatman among the sedges, towing his small 
boat, with some difficulty, up the current. Hail- 
ing him, as we passed, I asked, 4 4 Where stands 
the Mountain of the Birds?” — and he had hardly 
time to answer, pointing above our heads, 44 There,” 
when we perceived that we were just then entering 
into the shadow, which this mighty rock flings 
across the whole of the flood. 

In a few moments we had reached the mouth of 
the ravine, of which the Mountain of the Birds 
forms one of the sides, and through which the 
scanty canal from the Nile flows. At the sight of 
this chasm, in some of whose gloomy recesses — if 
we had rightly interpreted the leaf — the dwelling 
of the Solitary lay, our voices, at once, sunk into 
a low whisper, while Alethe looked round upon me 
with a superstitious fearfulness, as if doubtful whe- 
ther I had not already disappeared from her side. 
A quick movement, however, of her hand towards 
the ravine, told too plainly that her purpose was 
still unchanged. With my oars, therefore, check- 
ing the career of our boat, I succeeded, after ncr- 


130 


small exertion, in turning it out of the current of 
the river, and steering into this bleak and stagnant 
canal. 

Our transition from life and bloom, to the very 
depth of desolation, was immediate. While the 
water and one side of the ravine lay buried in sha- 
dow, the white, skeleton-like crags of the other 
stood aloft in the pale glare of moonlight. The 
sluggish stream through which we moved, yielded 
sullenly to the oar, and the shriek of a few water- 
birds, which we had aroused from their fastnesses, 
was succeeded by a silence, so dead and awful, 
that our lips seemed afraid to disturb it by a breath; 
and half-whispered exclamations, “How dreary!” 
— “How dismal!” — were almost the only words 
exchanged between us. 

We had proceeded, for some time, through this 
gloomy defile, when at a distance before us, among 
the rocks on which the moonlight fell, we perceived, 
upon a ledge but little elevated above the canal, a 
small hut or cave, which, from a tree or two planted 
around it, had some appearance of being the abode 
of a human being. “ This, then,” thought I, “is 
the home to which Alethe is destined!”— A chill 
of despair came again over my heart, and the oars, 
as I gazed, lay motionless in my hands. 

I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had caught the 
same object, drawing closer to my side than she 
had yet ventured. Laying her hand agitatedly 
upon mine, “We must here,” she said, “part for- 
ever.” I turned to her, as she spoke; there was 
a tenderness, a despondency in her countenance, 
that at once saddened and inflamed my soul, 
“Part!” I exclaimed passionately, — “No! — the 
same God shall receive us both. Thy faith, Alethe, 


131 


shall, from this hour, be mine, and I will live and 
die in this desert with thee!” 

Her surprise, her delight, at these words, was 
like a momentary delirium. The wild, anxious 
smile, with which she looked into my face, as if to 
ascertain whether she had, indeed, heard my words 
aright, bespoke a happiness too much for reason to 
bear. At length, the fulness of her heart found re- 
lief in tears; and, murmuring forth an incoherent 
blessing on my name, she let her head fall lan- 
guidly and powerlessly on my arm. The light 
from our boat-fire shone upon her face. 1 saw her 
eyes, which she had closed for a moment, again 
opening upon me with the same tenderness, and — 
merciful Providence, how I remember that mo- 
ment! — was on the point of bending down my lips 
| towards hers, when, suddenly, in the air above our 
jieads, as if it came from heaven, there burst forth 
. a strain from a choir of voices, that with its solemn 
\ sweetness filled the whole valley. 

Breaking away from my caress at these super- 
natural sounds, the maiden threw herself trembling 
upon her knees, and, not daring to look up, ex- 
claimed wildly, “ My mother, oh my mother!” 

It was the Christian’s morning hymn that we 
heard! — the same, as I learned afterwards, that, 
on their high terrace at Memphis, Alethe had been 
often taught by her mother to sing to the rising sun. 

Scarcely less startled than my companion, I 
looked up, and, at the very summit of the rock 
above us, saw a light, appearing to come from a 
small opening or window, through which also the 
sounds, that had appeared so supernatural, issued. 
There could be no doubt, that we had now found 
—if not the dwelling of the anchoret — at least, the 
haunt of some of the Christian brotherhood of these 


132 


rocks, by whose assistance we could not fail to find 
the place of his retreat. 

The agitation, into which Alethe had been thrown 
by the first burst of that psalmody, soon yielded to 
the softening recollections which it brought back; 
and a calm came over her brow, such as it had never 
before worn, since our meeting. She seemed to 
feel that she had now reached her destined haven, 
and to hail, as the voice of heaven itself, those 
sounds by which she was welcomed to it. 

In her tranquillity, however, I could not now 
sympathize. Impatient to know all that awaited 
her and myself, I pushed our boat close to the base 
of the rock, — directly under that lighted window 
on the summit, to find mv way up to which was 
my first object. Having hastily received my in- 
structions from Alethe, and made her repeat again 
the name of the Christian whom we sought, I 
sprang upon the bank, and was not long in dis- 
covering a sort of rude stairway, cut out of the 
rock, but leading, I found, by easy windings, up 
the steep. 

After ascending for some time, I arrived at a 
level space or ledge, which the hand of labour lnd ] 
succeeded in converting into a garden, and which 1 
was planted, here and there, with fig-trees and 
palms. Around it, too, I could perceive, through 1 
the glimmering light, a number of small caves or .j 
grottos, into some of which, human beings might I 
find entrance, while others appeared no larger 1 
than the tombs of the Sacred Birds round Lake- f 
Moeris. 

I was still, I found, but half-way up the ascent f 
to the summit, nor could perceive any farther I 
means of continuing my course, as the mountain 
from hence rose,, almost perpendicularly, like a 


133 


wall. At length, however, on exploring around, 
I discovered, behind the shade of a sycamore, a 
large ladder of wood, resting firmly against the 
rock, and affording an easy and secure ascent up 
the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I again descended 
to the boat for Alethe, — whom I found trembling 
already at her short solitude, — and, having led 
her up the steps to this quiet garden, left her safely 
lodged, amid its holy silence, while I pursued my 
way upward to the light on the rock. 

At the top of the long ladder I found myself on 
another ledge or platform, somewhat smaller than 
the first, but planted in the same manner, with 
trees, and, as I could perceive, by the mingled 
light of morning and the moon, embellished with 
flowers. I was now near the summit; — there re- 
mained but another short ascent, and, as a ladder 
against the rock as before, supplied the means of 
scaling it, I was in a few minutes at the opening 
from which the light issued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling 
of awe at the whole scene, as from an unwilling- 
ness to disturb, too rudely, the rites on which I in- 
truded. My approach was, therefore, unheard, 
and an opportunity, during some moments, afforded 
me of observing the group within, before my ap- 
pearance at the window was discovered. 

In the middle of the apartment, which seemed 
once to have been a Pagan oratory, there was an 
assembly of seven or eight persons, some male, 
some female, kneeling in silence round a small al- 
tar; — while, among them, as if presiding over their 
ceremony, stood an aged man, who, at the mo- 
ment of my arrival, was presenting to one of the 
Female worshippers an alabaster cup, which she 

M 


134 


applied* with much reverence, to her lips. On 
the countenance of the venerable minister, as he 
pronounced a short prayer over her head, there 
was an expression of profound feeling, that showed 
how wholly he was absorbed in that rite; and when 
she had drank of the cup, — which I saw had en 
graven on its side the image of a head, with agloiy 
round it, — the holy man bent down and kissed hei 
forehead. 

After this parting salutation, the whole group 
rose silently from their knees; and it was then, for 
the first time, that, by a cry of terror from one of 
the women, the appearance of a stranger at the 
window, was discovered. The whole assembly 
seemed startled and alarmed, except him, that su- 
perior person, who, advancing from the altar, 
with an unmoved look, raised the latch of the door, 
which was adjoining to the window, and admitted 
me. 




There was, in this old man’s features, a mixture 
of elevation and sweetness, of simplicity and en- 
ergy, which commanded at once, attachment and 
homage; and half hoping, half fearing to find in 
him the destined guardian of Alethe, I looked 
anxiously in his face, as I entered, and pronounced 
the name 44 Melanius!” 44 Melanius is my name, 
young stranger,” he answered; 4 4 and whether in 
friendship or in enmity thou comest, Melanius 
blesses thee. ” Thus saying, he made a sign with 
his right hand above my head, while, with involun- 
tary respect, I bowed beneath the benediction. 

44 Let this volume,” I replied, 44 answer for the 
peacefulness of my mission,” — at the same time, 
placing in his hands the copy of the Scriptures, 
which had been his own gift to the mother of 
Alethe, and which her child brought as the ere* 








, 




dential of her claims on his protection. At the 
sight of this sacred pledge, which he recognized 
instantly, the solemnity that had marked his first 
reception of me softened into tenderness. Thoughts 
of other times seemed to pass through his mind, 
and as, with a sigh of recollection, he took the book 
from my hands, some words on the outer leaf 
caught his eye. They were few — but contained, 
perhaps, the last wishes of the dying Theora, for 
as he eagerly read them over, I saw the tears in 
his aged eyes. “The trust,” he said, with a fal- 
tering voice, “ is sacred, and God will, I hope, 
enable his servant to guard it faithfully.” 

During this short dialogue, the other persons of 
the assembly had departed — being, as I afterwards 
learned, brethren from the neighbouring bank of 
the Nile, who came thus secretly before day-break, 
to join in worshipping God. Fearful lest their 
descent down the rock might alarm Alethe, I hur- 
ried briefly over the few words of explanation that 
remained, and, leaving the venerable Christian to 
follow at his leisure, hastened anxiously down to 
rejoin the maiden. 


CHAP. XVI. 

Melanius w$s among the first of those Chris- 
tians of Egypt, who, after the recent example of 
the hermit, Paul, renouncing all the comforts of 
social existence, betook themselves to a life of con- 
templation in the desert. Less selfish, however, 
in his piety, than most of these ascetics, Melanius 
forgot not the world, in leaving it. He knew that 
man was not born to live wholly for himself; that 


his relation to human kind was that of the link to 
the chain, and that even his solitude should be 
turned to the advantage of others. In flying, 
therefore, from the din and disturbance of life, he 
sought not to place himself beyond the reach of 
its sympathies, but selected a retreat, where he 
could combine the advantage of solitude with those * 
opportunities of serving his fellow-men, which a I 
neighbourhood to their haunts would afford. 

That taste for the gloom of subterranean reces | 
ses, which the race of Misraim inherit from their 1 
Ethiopian ancestors, had, by hollowing out all 
Egypt into caverns and crypts, furnished these 
Christian anchorets with a choice of retreats. Ac 
cordingly, some found a shelter in the grottos of 
Elethya; — others, among the royal tombs of the 
Thebaid. In the middle of the Seven Valleys, ; 
where the sun rarely shines, a few have fixed their > 
dim and melancholy retreat, while others have < 
sought the neighbourhood of the red Lakes of Ni- * 
tria, and there, — like those Pagan solitaries of old, 
who dwelt among the palm-trees near the Dead $ 
Sea, — muse amid the sterility of nature, and seem ; 
to find, in her desolation, peace. 

It was on one of the mountains of the Said, to 
the east of the river, that Melanius, as we have 
seen, chose his place of seclusion, — between the 
life and fertility of the Nile on the one side, and j| 
the lone, dismal barrenness of the desert on the 
other. Half-way down this mountain, where it 
impends over the ravine, he found a series of caves 
or grottos dug out of the rock, which had, in other 
times, ministered to some purpose of mystery, but 
whose use had been long forgotten, and their re- 
cesses abandoned. 

To this place, after the banishment of his great 


137 


master, Origen, Melanius, with a few faithful fol- 
lowers, retired, and, by the example of his inno- 
cent life, no less than by his fervid eloquence, suc- 
ceeded in winning crowds of converts to his faith. 
Placed, as he was, in the neighbourhood of the 
rich city, Antinoe, though he mingled not with its 
multitude, his name and his fame were among 
them, and, to all who sought instruction or conso- 
lation, the cell of the hermit was ever open. 

Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence of his own 
habits, he was yet careful to provide for the com- 
forts of others. Contented with a rude bed of 
straw himself, for the stranger he had always a 
less homely resting-place. From his grotto, the 
way-faring and the indigent never went unrefresh- 
ed; and, with the assistance of some of his breth- 
ren, he had formed gardens along the ledges of 
the mountain, which gave an air of cheerfulness 
to his rocky dwelling, and supplied him with the 
chief necessaries of such a climate, fruit and shade. 

Though the acquaintance which he had formed 
with the mother of Alethe, during the short period 
of her attendance at the school of Origen, was soon 
interrupted, and never afterwards renewed, the 
interest which he had then taken in her fate, was 
too lively to be forgotten. He had seen the zeal 
with which her young heart welcomed instruction; 
and the thought that such a candidate for heaven 
should have relapsed into idolatry, came often, 
with disquieting apprehension, over his mind. 

It was, therefore, with true pleasure, that, but 
a year or two before her death, he had learned, by 
a private communication from Theora, transmitted 
through a Christian embalmer of Memphis, that 
64 not only her own heart had taken root in the 
faith, but that a new bud had flowered with the 


same divine hope, and that, ere long, he might see 
them both transplanted to the desert.” 

The coming, therefore, of Alethe was far less a 
surprise to him, than her coming thus alone was a 
shock and a sorrow; and the silence of their meet- 
ing showed how deeply each remembered, that the 
tie which had brought them together, was no longer 
of this world, — that the hand, which should have | 
been joined with theirs, was in the tomb. I now | 
saw, that not even religion was proof against the , 
sadness of mortality. For, as the old man put the | 
ringlets aside from her forehead, and contemplated 
in that clear countenance the reflection of what her 
mother had been, there was a mournfulness mingled 
with his piety, as he said, “Heaven rest her soul !” 
which showed how little, even the certainty of a 
heaven for those we love, can subdue our regret 
for having lost them on earth. 

The full light of day had now risen upon the de- | 
sert, and our host, reminded by the faint looks of ,j 
Alethe, of the many anxious hours we had passed 
without sleep, proposed that we should seek, in the ! 
chambers of the rock, such rest as the dwelling of 
a hermit could offer. Pointing to one of the largest j 
openings, as he addressed me, — “ Thou wilt find,” 
he said, “ in that grotto, a bed of fresh doum leaves, $ 
and may the consciousness of having protected the 
orphan, sweeten thy sleep!” 

I felt how dearly this praise had been earned, 
and already almost repented of having deserved it. j 
There was a sadness in the countenance of Alethe, J 
as I took leave of her, to which the forebodings of I 
my own heart but too faithfully responded; nor'? 
could I help fearing, as her hand parted linger- i 
ingly from mine, that I had, by this sacrifice, pla- 
ced her beyond my reach forever. 


139 ' 


Having lighted me a lamp, which, in these re- 
cesses, even at noon, is necessary, the holv man 
led me to the entrance of the grotto; — and liere, I 
blush to say, my career of hypocrisy began. With 
the sole view of obtaining another glance at Alethe, 
I turned humbly to solicit the benediction of the 
Christian, and, having conveyed to her, as I bent 
reverently down, as much of the deep feeling of 
my soul as looks could express, with a desponding 
spirit I hurried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me tt> the chamber within, 
— the walls of which I found covered, like those 
of the grottos of Lycopolis, with paintings, which, 
though executed long ages ago, looked fresh as if 
their colours were but laid on yesterday. They 
were, all of them, representations of rural and do- 
mestic scenes; and, in the greater number, the me- 
lancholy imagination of the artist had called Death 
in, as usual, to throw his shadow over the picture. 

My attention was particularly drawn to one se- 
ries of subjects, throughout the whole of which the 
same group — a youth, a maiden, and two aged per- 
sons, who appeared to be the father and mother of 
the girl, — were represented in all the details of 
their daily life. The looks and attitudes of the 
young people, denoted that they were lovers; and 
sometimes, they were seen sitting under a canopy 
of flowers, with their eyes fixed on each other’s 
faces, as though they could never look away; some- 
times, they apppeared walking along the banks of 
the Nile, 

on one of those sweet nights 

When Isis, the pure star of lovers, lights 
Her bridal crescent o’er the holy stream, 

When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam. 
And number o’er the nights she hath to run, 

Ere she again embrace hei bridegroom sun. 


140 


Through all these scenes of endearment, the two 
elder persons stood by;— their calm countenances 
touched with a share of that bliss, in whose perfect 
light the young lovers were basking. Thus far, all 
was happiness, — but the sad lesson of mortality 
was to come. In the last picture of the series, one 
of the figures was missing. It was that of the young 
maiden, who had disappeared from among them. 

On the brink of a dark lake, stood the three who 
remained ! while a boat, just departing for the City 
of the Dead, told, too plainly, the end of their } 
dream of happiness. 

This memorial of a sorrow of other times — of a 
sorrow, ancient as death itself, — was not wanting 
to deepen the melancholy of my mind, or to add to 
the weight of the many bodings that pressed on it. 

After a night, as it seemed, of anxious and un- 
sleeping thought, I rose from my bed and returned 
to the garden. I found the Christian alone,— seat- 
ed, under the shade of one of his trees, at a small 
table, with a volume unrolled before him, while a 
beautiful antelope lay sleeping at his feet. Struck 
forcibly by the contrast, which he presented to those 
haughty priests, whom I had seen surrounded by 
the pomp and gorgeousness of temples, 66 Is this, "H 
then,” thought I, “ the faith, before which the 
world trembles — its temple the desert, its treasury 
a book, and its High Priest the solitary dweller of 
the rock?” 

He had prepared for me a simple, but hospitable 
repast, of which fruits from his own garden, the 
white bread of Olyra, and the juice of the honey- ! 
cane were the most costly luxuries. His manner 
to me was even more cordial than before; but the 
absence of Alethe, and, still more, the ominous re- 
serve, with which he not only, himself, refrained 


141 


from all mention of her name, but eluded the few 
inquiries, by which I sought to lead to it, seemed 
to confirm all the fears I had felt in parting from 
her. 

She had acquainted him, it was evident, with the 
whole history of our flight. My reputation as a 
philosopher — my desire to become a Christian — 
all was already known to the zealous Anchoret, 
and the subject of my conversion was the very first 
on which he entered. 0 pride of philosophy, how 
wert thou then humbled, and with what shame did 
I stand, casting down my eyes, before that venera- 
ble man, as, witli ingenuous trust in the sincerity 
of my intention, he welcomed me to a participa- 
tion of his holy hope, and imprinted the Kiss of 
Charity on my infidel brow! 

Embarrassed as I felt by the consciousness of 
hypocrisy, I was even still more perplexed by my 
total ignorance of the real tenets of the faith to 
which I professed myself a convert. Abashed and 
confused, and with a heart sick at its own deceit, 
I heard the animated and eloquent gratulations of 
the Christian, as though they were words in a 
dream, without link or meaning; nor could dis- 
guise but by the mockery of a reverential bow, at 
every pause, the entire want of self-possession, and 
even of speech, under which I laboured. 

A few minutes more of such trial, and I must 
have avowed my imposture. But the holy man 
saw my embarrassment; — and, whether mistaking 
it for awe, or knowing it to be ignorance, relieved 
me from my perplexity by, at once, changing the 
theme. Having gently awakened his antelope from 
its sleep, “You have heard,” he said, “I doubt 
not, of my brother-anchoret, Paul, who, from his 
cave in the marble mountains, near the Red Sea* 


142 


sends hourly ‘the sacrifice of thanksgiving* to 
heaven. Of his walks, they tell me, a lion is the 
companion ; but for me,” he added, with a playful 
and significant smile, “who try my powers of 
taming but on the gentler animals, this feeble child 
of the desert is a far fitter play-mate.” Then, 
taking his staff, and putting the time-worn volume 
which he had been reading into a large goat skin 
pouch, that hung by his side, “I willjiow,” said 
he, “lead thee over my rocky kingdom, — that 
thou mayest see in what drear and barren places, | 
that ‘fruit of the spirit,’ Peace, may be ga- 
thered.” 

To speak of peace to a heart like mine, at that 
moment, was like talking of some distant harbour 
to the mariner sinking at sea. In vain did I look 
round for some sign of Alethe; — in vain make an 
effort even to utter her name. Consciousness of 
my own deceit, as well as a fear of awakening in 
Melanius any suspicion that might frustrate my 
only hope, threw a fetter over my spirit, and check- 
ed my tongue. In silence, therefore, I followed, 
while the cheerful old man, with slow, but firm 
step, ascended the rock, by the same ladders 
which I had mounted on the preceding night. 

During the time when the Decian Persecution 
was raging, many Christians of this neighbourhood, 
he informed me, had taken refuge under his pro- 
tection, in these grottos 5 and the chapel on the 
summit, where I had found them at prayer, was, in 
those times of danger, their place of retreat, where, 
by drawing up these ladders, they were enabled to 
secure themselves from pursuit. 

From the top of the rock, the view, on either 
side, embraced the two extremes of fertility and 
desolation, nor could the Epicurean and the An- 


143 


choret, who now gazed from that height, be at any 
loss to indulge their respective tastes, between the 
living luxuriance of the world on one side, and the 
dead repose of the desert on the other. When we 
turned to the river, what a picture of animation 
presented itself! Near us, to the south, were the 
graceful colonnades of Antinoe, its proud, popu- 
lous streets, and triumphal monuments. On the 
opposite shore, rich plains, teeming with cultiva- 
tion to the water’s edge, offered up, as from ver- 
dant altars, their fruits to the sun; while, beneath 
us, the Nile, 

the glorious stream, 

That late between its banks was seen to glide,— 

With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 

Glittering, like jewels strung along a chain, — 

Had now sent forth its waters, and o’er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch’d limbs, superbly spread. 

From this scene, on one side of the mountain, we 
had but to turn round our eyes, and it was as if 
nature herself had become suddenly extinct; — a 
wide waste of sands, bleak and interminable, wea- 
rying out the sun with its sameness of desolation; 
—black, burnt-up rocks, that stood as barriers, at 
which life stopped; — while the only signs of ani- 
mation, past or present, were the foot-prints, here 
i and there, of an antelope or ostrich, or the bones 
of dead camels, as they lay whitening at a dis- 
tance, marking out the track of the caravans over 
the waste. 

After listening, while he contrasted, ih a few 
eloquent words, the two regions of life and death 
on whose confines we stood, I again descended 
with my guide to the garden we had left. From 
thence, turning into a path along the mountain- 


144 


side, he conducted me to another row of grottos, 
facing the desert, which had once, he said, been 
the abode of those brethren in Christ, who had 
fled with him to this solitude from the crowded 
world, — but which death had, within a few months, 
rendered tenantless. A cross of red stone, and 
a few faded trees, were the only traces these soli- 
taries had left behind. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, while we * 
descended to the edge of the canal; and I saw op- 
posite, among the rocks, that solitary cave, which . 
had so chilled me with its aspect on the preceding 
night. By the bank we found one of those rustic 
boats, which the Egyptians construct of planks of 
wild thorn, bound rudely together with bands of 
papyrus. Placing ourselves in this boat, and ra- 
ther impelling than rowing it across, we made our 
way through the foul and shallow flood, and landed 
directly under the site of the cave. 

This dwelling, as I have already mentioned, 
was situated upon a ledge of the rock; and, being ! ( 
provided with a sort of window or aperture to ad- ,i 
mit the light of heaven, was accounted, I found, 
more cheerful than the grottos on the other side of 
the ravine. But there was a dreariness in the 
whole region around, to which light only lent more 
horror. The dead whiteness of the rocks, as they 
stood, like ghosts, in the sunshine; — that melan- | 
choly pool, half lost in the sands; — all gave me 
the idea of a wasting world. To dwell in such a 
place seemed to me like a living death; and when 
the Christian, as we entered the cave, said, “ Here 
is to be thy home,” prepared as I was for the 
worst, my resolution gave way; — every feeling of 
disappointed passion and humbled pride, which I 




145 


had been gathering round my heart for the last few 
hours, found a vent at once, and I burst into tears! 

Well accustomed to human weakness, and per- 
haps guessing at some of the sources of mine, the 
good Hermit, without appearing to notice this 
emotion, expatiated, with a cheerful air, on, 
what he called, the many comforts of my dwell- 
ing. Sheltered, he said, from the dry, burn- 
ing wind of the south, my porch would inhale 
the fresh breeze of the Dog-star. Fruits from 
his own mountain-garden should furnish my re- 
past. The well of the neighbouring rock would 
supply my beverage; and, “here,” he continued, — 
lowering his voice into a more solemn tone, as he 
placed upon the table the volume which he had 
brought, — “here, my son, is that ‘well of living 
waters,’ in which alone thou wilt find lasting re- 
freshment or peace!” Thus saying, he descended 
the rock to his boat, and after a few plashes of his 
oar had died upon my ear, the solitude and silence 
around me was complete. 


CHAP. XVII. 

What a fate was mine ! — but a few weeks since, 
presiding over that splendid Festival of the Gar- 
den, with all the luxuries of existence tributary in 
my train; and now,— -self-humbled into a solitary 
outcast, — the hypocritical pupil of a Christian an- 
choret,— without even the excuse of fanaticism, or 
of any other madness, but that of love, wild love, 
to extenuate my fall! Were there a hope that, by 
this humiliating waste of existence, I might pur- 
chase but a glimpse, now and then, of Alethe, even 

N 


146 


the depths of the desert, with such a chance, 
would be welcome. But to live — and live thus — 
without her, was a misery which I neither foresaw 
nor could endure. 

Hating even to look upon the den to which I was 
doomed, I hurried out into the air, and found my 
way, along the rocks, to the desert. The sun was 
going down, with that blood-red hue, which he so 
frequently wears, in this clime, at his setting. I 
saw the sands, stretching out, like a sea, to the '* 
horizon, as if their waste extended to the very 
verge of the world, — and, in the bitterness of my 
feelings, rejoiced to see so much of creation res- 
cued, even by this barren liberty, from the grasp 
of man. The thought seemed to relieve my 
wounded pride, and, as I wandered over the dim 
and boundless solitude, to be thus free, even amid < 
blight and desolation, appeared a blessing. 

The only living thing I saw was a restless swal- J 
low, whose wings were of the hue of the gray sands 
over which he fluttered. 64 Why may not the 
mind, like this bird, take the colour of the desert, 
and sympathise in its austerity, its freedom, and 
its calm?” — thus, between despondence and defi- 
ance,, did I ask myself, endeavouring to face with | 
fortitude what yet my heart sickened to contem- ; 
plate. But the effort was unavailing. Overcome j 
by that vast solitude, whose repose was not the i 
slumber of peace, but the sullen and burning si- k | 
lence of hate, I felt my spirit give way, and even! 
love itself yield to despair. 

Seating myself on a fragment of a rock, and 
covering my eyes with my hands, I made an effort 
to shut out the overwhelming prospect. Butin i 
vain — it was still before me, deepened by all that 
fancy could add$ and when, again looking up, I I 


147 


saw the last red ray of the sun, shooting across 
that melancholy and lifeless waste, it seemed to 
me like the light of the comet that once desolated 
this world, shining out luridly over the ruin that 
it had made ! 

Appalled by my own gloomy imaginations, I 
turned towards the ravine; and, notwithstanding 
the disgust with whicli I had left my dwelling, was 
not ill pleased to find my way, over the rocks, to 
it again. On approaching the cave, to my astonish- 
ment, I saw a light within. At such a moment, 
any vestige of life was welcome, and I hailed the 
unexpected appearance with pleasure: On enter- 
ing, however, I found the chamber as lonely as I 
had left it. The light came from a lamp that 
burned brightly on the table; beside it was unfold- 
ed the volume which Melanius had brought, and 
upon the leaves — oh, joy and surprise — lay the 
well known cross of Alethe! 

What hand, but her own, could have prepared 
this reception for me? — The very thought sent a 
hope into my heart, before which all despondency 
fled. Even the gloom of the desert was forgotten, 
and my cave at once brightened into a bower. She 
had here reminded me, herself, by this sacred me- 
morial, of the vow which I had pledged to her un- 
der the Hermit’s rock; and I now scrupled not to 
reiterate the same daring promise, though con- 
scious that through hypocrisy alone I could fulfil it. 

Eager to prepare myself for my task of impos- 
ture, I sat down to the volume, which I now found 
to be the Hebrew Scriptures; and the first sen- 
tence on which my eyes fell, was — “The Lord 
hath commanded the blessing, even Life for ever- 
more?” Startled by these words, in which the 
Spirit of my dream seemed again to pronounce his 


148 


assuring prediction, I raised my eyes from the 
page, and repeated the sentence over and over, as 
if to try whether the sounds had any charm or 
spell to reawaken that faded illusion in my soul. 
But, no— the rank frauds of the Memphian priest- 
hood had dispelled all J Jl 



religion. My heart 


gloom of scepticism, and, to the word ol 44 Life,” 
the only answer it sent back was, 44 Death !” 

Impatient, however, to possess myself of the 1 
elements of a faith, on which — whatever it might 
promise for hereafter — I felt that my happiness 
here depended, I turned over the pages with an 
earnestness and avidity, such as never even the' 
most favourite of my studies had awakened in me. 
Though, like all who seek but the surface of learn- 
ing, I flew desultorily over the leaves, lighting * 
only on the more prominent and shining points, I ? 
yet found myself, even iij this undisciplined career, 
arrested, at every page, by the awful, the super- 
natural sublimity, the alternate melancholy and 
grandeur of the images that crowded upon me. 

I had, till now, known the Hebrew theology but 
through the platonising refinements of Philo, — as, 
in like manner, for my knowledge of the Chris- 
tian doctrine I was. indebted to my brother Epicu- 
reans, Lucien and Celsus. Little, therefore, was 
I prepared for the simple majesty, the high tone of 
inspiratioi of heaven that 



breathed 


Could admi- 


ration have kindled faith, I should, that night, 
have been a believer; so elevated, so awed was 
my imagination by that wonderful book — its warn- 
ings of wo, its announcements of glory, and its 
unrivalled strains of adoration and sorrow. 

Hour after hour, with the same eager and desul- 


149 


toiy curiosity, did I turn over the leaves;— and 
vv hen, at length, I lay down to rest, my fancy was 
still haunted by the impressions it had received. 
I went again through the various scenes of which 
I had read; again called up, in sleep, the bright 
images that had charmed me, and, when wakened 
at day-break by the Hymn from the chapel, fan- 
cied myself still listening to the sound of the winds, 
sighing mournfully through the harps of Israel on 
the willows. 

Starting from my bed, I hurried out upon the 
rock, with a hope that, among the tones of that 
morning choir, I might be able to distinguish the 
sweet voice of Alethe. But the the strain had 
ceased; — I caught only the last notes of the Hymn, 
as, echoing up that lonely valley, they died away 
into the silence of the desert. 

With the first glimpse of light I was again at my 
study, and, notwithstanding the distraction both of 
my thoughts and looks towards the half-seen grot- 
tos of the Anchoret, pursued it perseyeringly 
through the day. Still alive, however, but to the 
eloquence, the poetry of what I read, of its con- 
nection or authenticity, as a history, I never paused 
to consider. My fancy being alone interested by 
it, to fancy I referred all it contained; and, pass- 
ing rapidly from annals to prophecy, from narra- 
tion to song, regarded the whole as a tissue of 
splendid allegories, in which the melancholy of 
Egyptian associations was interwoven with the rich 
imagery of the East. 

Towards sunset I saw the boat of Melanius on 
its way, across the canal, to my cave. Though he 
had no other companion than his graceful antelope, 
that stood snuffing the wild air of the desert, as it t 
scenting its home, I felt his visit, even thus, to be 
n 2 


150 * 


a most welcome relief. It was the hour', he said, 
of his evening ramble up the mountain, — of his ac- 
customed visit to those cisterns of the rock, from 
which he nightly drew his most precious beverage. 
While he spoke, I observed in his hand one of 
those earthen cups, in which the inhabitants of the 
wilderness are accustomed to collect the fresh-dew 
among the rocks. Having proposed that I should 
accompany him in his walk, he led me, in the di- 
rection of the desert, up the side of the mountain 
that rose above my dwelling, and which formed the 
southern wall or screen of the defile. 

Near the summit we found a seat, where the old 
man paused to rest. It commanded a full view 
over the desert, and was by the side of one of those 
hollows in the rock, those natural reservoirs, in 
which the dews of night are treasured up for the 
refreshment of the dwellers in the wilderness. 
Having learned from me how far I had proceeded 
in my study, “ In that light,” said he, pointing to 
a small cloud in the east, which had been formed 
on the horizon by the haze of the desert, and was 
now faintly reflecting the splendours of sunset, — 
44 in that light stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory 
thou hast read 5 on whose summit was the .scene 
of one of those awful revelations, in which the Al- 
mighty has, from time to time, renewed his commu- 
nication with Man, and kept alive the remembrance 
ol his own Providence in this world.” 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the immensity 
of the subject, the holy man continued his sublime 
theme. Looking back to the earliest annals of 
time, he showed how constantly every relapse of 
the human race into idolatry, has been followed by 
some manifestation of divine power, chastening the 
proud by punishment, and winning back the hum- 


ble by love. It was to preserve, lie said, unextin- 
gmshed upon earth, that vital truth, —the Creation 
of the world by one Supreme Being, — that God 
chose, from among the nations, an humble and en- 
slaved race; — that he brought them out of their 
captivity “on eagles’ wings,” and, surrounding 
every step of their course with miracles, placed 
them before the eyes of all succeeding generations, 
as the depositaries of his will, and the ever-durina- 
memorials of his power. 

Passing, then, in review the long train of inspi- 
red interpreters, whose pens and whose tongues 
were made the echoes of the Divine voice, he tra- 
ced," through the events of successive ages, the 
gradual unfolding of the dark scheme of Provi- 
dence — darkness without, but all light and glory 
within. The glimpses of a coming redemption, vi- 
sible even through the wrath of heaven; — the long 
series of prophecy, through which this hope runs, 
burning and alive, like a spark through a chain;— 
the merciful preparation of the hearts of mankind 
for the great trial of their faith and obedience that 
was at hand, not only by miracles that appealed to 
the living, but by predictions launched into futu- 
rity • to carry conviction to the yet unborn;— 
“ through all these glorious and beneficent grada- 
tions we may track,” said he, “ the manifest foot- 
steps of a Creator, advancing to his grand, ultimate 
end, the salvation of his creatures.” 

After some hours devoted to these holy instruc- 
tions, we returned to the ravine, and Meianius left 
me at my cave; praying, as he parted from me, — 
with a benevolence 1 but ill, alas! deserved,— that 
my soul under these lessons, might be 6i as a wa- 

* In the original, the discourses of the Hermit are given 
much more at length. 


152 


tered garden,” and, ere long, bear 66 fruit unto life 
eternal.” 

Next morning, I was again at my study, and 
even more eager in the task than before. With 
the commentary of the Hermit freshly in my me- 
mory, I again read through, with attention, the 
Book of the Law. But in vain did I seek the pro- 
mise of immortality in its pages. 64 It tells me,” 
said I, 4 ‘of a God coming down to earth, but of 
the ascent of Man to heaven it speaks not. The 
rewards, the punishments it announces, lie all on 
this side of the grave; nor did even the Omnipo- 
tent offer to his own chosen servants a hope be- 
yond the impassable limits of this world. Where, 
then, is the salvation of which the Christian spoke? 
or, if Death be at the root of the faith, can Life 
spring out of it?” 

Again, in the bitterness of disappointment, did 
I mock at my own willing self-delusion, — again 
rail at the arts of that traitress, Fancy, ever ready, 
like the Delilah of this book, to steal upon the slum- 
bers of Reason, and deliver him up, shorn and 
powerless, to his foes. If deception — thought I, 
with a sigh — be necessary, at least, let me not prac- 
tise it on myself; — in the desperate alternative be- 
fore me, let me rather be even hypocrite than dupe. 

These self-accusing reflections, cheerless as they 
rendered my task, did not abate, for a single mo- 
ment, my industry in pursuing it. I read on and 
on, with a sort of sullen apathy, neither charmed 
by style, nor transported by imagery, — that fatal 
blight in my heart, having communicated itself to 
my fancy and taste. The curses and the blessings, 
the glory and the ruin, which the historian re- 
corded and the prophet predicted, seemed all of 
this world, —all, temporal and earthly. Thatmor- 


153 


fality, of which the fountain-head had tasted, tinged 
the whole stream; and when I read the words, “all 
are of the dust, and all turn to dust again, ” a feel- 
ing, like the wind of the desert, came witheringly 
over me. Love, Beauty, Glory, every thing most 
blight upon earth, appeared sinking before my eyes, 
under this dreadful doom, into one general mass 
of corruption and silence. 

Possessed by the image of desolation I had called 
up, I laid my head on the book, in a paroxysm of 
despair. Death, in all his most ghastly varieties, 
passed before me; and I had continued thus for 
some time, as under the influence of a fearful vi- 
sion, when the touch of a hand upon my shoulder 
roused me. Looking up, I saw the Anchoret 
standing by my side; — his countenance beaming 
with that sublime tranquillity, which a hope, be- 
yond this earth, alone can bestow. How I envied 
him ! 

We, again, took our way to the seat upon the 
mountain, — the gloom in my own mind, making 
every thing around me more gloomy. Forgetting 
my hypocrisy in my feelings, I, at once, avowed to 
him all the doubts and fears, which my study of 
the morning had awakened. 

46 Thou art yet, my son,” lie answered, “ but on 
the threshold of our faith. Thou hast seen but the 
first rudiments of the Divine plan: its full and con- 
summate perfection hath not yet opened upon thee. 
However glorious that manifestation of Divinity, 
on Mount Sinai, it was but the forerunner of ano- 
ther, still more glorious, that, in the fulness of 
time, was to burst upon the world; when all, that 
had seemed dim and incomplete, was to be per- 
fected, and the promises, shadowed out by the 
‘spirit of prophecy, ’ realized; — when the silence, 


154 


that lay, as a seal on the future, was to be broken, 
and the glad tidings of life and immortality pro- 
claimed to the world!” 

Observing my features brighten at these words, 
the pious man continued. Anticipating some of 
the holy knowledge that was in store for me, he 
traced, through all its wonders and mercies, the 
great work of Redemption, dwelling on every mi- 
raculous circumstance connected with it ; — the ex- 
alted nature of the Being, by whose ministry it 
was accomplished, the noblest and first created of 
the Sons of God, inferior only to the one, self-ex- 
istent Father; — the mysterious incarnation of this 
heavenly messenger; — the miracles that authenti- 
cated his divine mission; — the example of obedience 
to God and love to man, which he set, as a shining 
light, before the world forever; — and, lastly and 
chiefly, his death and resurrection, by which the 
covenant of mercy was sealed, and “life and im- 
mortality brought to light. ” 

“Such,” continued the Hermit, 44 was the Me- 
diator, promised through all time, to 4 make recon- 
ciliation for iniquity,’ to change death into life, 
and bring 4 healing on his wings,’ to a darkened 
world. Such was the last crowning dispensation 
of that God of benevolence, in whose hands sin and 
death are but instruments of everlasting good, and 
who, through apparent evil and temporary retribu- 
tion, bringing all things 4 out of darkness into his 
marvellous light,’ proceeds watchfully and un- 
changingly to the great, final object of his provi- 
dence, — the restoration of the whole human race to 
purity and happiness!” 

With a mind astonished, if not touched, by these, 
discourses, I returned to my cave; and found the 
lamp, as before, ready lighted to receive me. The 


155 


volume which I had been reading was replaced by 
another, which lay open upon the table, with a 
branch of fresh palm between its leaves. Though 
I could not have a doubt, to whose gentle hand I 
was indebted for this invisible superintendence 
over my studies, there was yet a something in it, 

so like spiritual interposition, that it awed me; 

and never more than at this moment, when, on ap- 
proaching the volume, I saw, as the light glistened 
over its silver letters, that it was the very Book of 
Life of which the Hermit had spoken ! 

The orison of the Christians had sounded through 
the valley, before I raised my eyes from that sacred 
volume; and the second hour of the sun found me 
again over its pages. 


CHAP. XVIII. 

In this mode of existence did I pass some days; 
— my mornings devoted to reading, my nights to 
listening, under the canopy of heaven, to the holy- 
eloquence of Melanius. The perseverance with 
which I inquired, and the quickness with which I 
learned, soon succeeded in deceiving my benevo- 
lent instructor, who mistook curiosity for zeal and 
knowledge for belief. Alas ! cold, and barren, and 
earthly was that knowledge, — the word, without 
the spirit, the shape, without the life. Even when, 
as a relief from hypocrisy, I persuaded myself that 
I believed, it was but a brief delusion, a faith, 
whose hope crumbled at the touch, — like the fruit 
of the desert-shrub, shining and empty ! 

But, though my soul was still dark, the good 
Hermit saw not into its depths. The very facility 


156 


of my belief, which might have suggested some 
doubt of its sincerity, was but regarded by Ins in- 
nocent zeal, as a more signal triumph of the truth. 
His own ingenuousness led him to a ready trust m 
others; and the examples of such conversion as that 
of the philosopher, Justin, who received the light 
into his soul during a walk by the sea-shore, had 
prepared him for illuminations of the spirit, even 
more rapid than mine. 

During this time, I neither saw nor heard of 
Alethe; — nor could my patience have endured so 
long a privation, had not those mute vestiges of 
her presence, that welcomed me every night on my 
return, made me feel that I was still living under 
her gentle influence, and that her sympathy hung 
round every step of my progress. Once, too, when 
I ventured to speak her name to Melanius, though 
he answered not my inquiry, there was a smile, I 
thought, of promise upon his countenance, which 
love, more alive than faith, interpreted as it wished. 

At length, — it was on the sixth or seventh even- 
ing of my solitude, when I lay resting at the door 
of my cave, after the study of the day, — I was 
startled by hearing my name called loudly from the 
opposite rocks, and looking up, saw, on the clift* 
near the deserted grottos, Melanius and — oh, I 
could not doubt — my Alethe by his side! 

Though I had never ceased, since the first night 
of my return from the desert, to flatter myself with 
the fancy that I was still living in her presence, 
the actual sight of her, again, made me feel what 
an age we had been separated. She was clothed all 
in white, and, as she stood in the last remains of 
the sunshine, appeared to my too prophetic fancy, 
like a parting spirit, whose last footsteps on earth 
that glory encircled. 


157 

With a delight only to be imagined, I saw them 
descend the rocks, and placing themselves m the 
boat, proceed towards my cave. To disguise from 
Melanius the feelings with which we met, was im- 
possible; — nor did Alethe even attempt to make a 
secret of her innocent joy. Though blushing at 
her own happiness, she could as little conceal it, 
as the clear waters of Ethiopia can hide their gold. 
Every look, too, every word, spoke a fulness of 
affection, to which, doubtful as I was of our tenure 
of happiness, I knew not how to answer. 

1 was not long, however, left ignorant of the 
bright fate that awaited me; but, as we wandered 
or rested among the rocks,., learned every thing 
that had been arranged since our parting. She had 
made the Hermit, I found, acquainted with all that 
had passed between us; had told him, without re- 
serve, every incident of our voyage, — the avowals, 
the demonstrations of affection on one side, and 
the deep sentiment that gratitude had awakened on 
the other. Too wise to regard feelings, so natural, 
with severity, — knowing that they were of heaven, 
and but made evil by man,— the good Hermit had 
heard of our attachment with pleasure; and, proved 
as he thought the purity of my views had been, by 
the fidelity with which I had delivered up my trust 
into his hands, saw, in my affection for the young 
orphan, but a providential resource against that 
friendless solitude, in which his death Inust soon 
leave her. 

* As I collected these particulars from their dis- 
course, I could hardly trust my ears. It seemed 
too much happiness to be real; nor can words give 
an idea of the joy — the shame — the wonder with 
which I listened, while the holy man himself de- 
clared, that he awaited but the moment, when he 
o 


/ 


158 


should find me worthy of becoming a member of 
the Christian Church, to give me also the hand of 
Alethe in that sacred union, which alone sanctifies 
love, and makes the faith, which it pledges, hea- 
venly. It was but yesterday, he added, that his 
young charge, herself, after a preparation of prayer 
and repentance, such as even her pure spirit re- 
quired, had been admitted, by the sacred ordi- 
nance of baptism, into the bosom of the faith; — 
and the white garment she wore, and the ring of 
gold on her finger, “ were symbols,” he said, “ of 
that New Life into which she had been initiated.” 

I raised my eyes to her as he spoke, but w ith- 
drew them again, dazzled and confused. Even 
her beauty, to my imagination, seemed to have 
undergone some brightening change; and the con- 
trast between that open and happy countenance, 
and the unblest brow of the infidel that stood be- 
fore her, abashed me into a sense of unworthiness, , 
and almost checked my rapture. 

To that night, however, I look back, as an epoch 
in my existence. It proved that sorrow is not 
the only awakener of devotion, but that joy may j 
sometimes call the holy spark into life. Return- 
ing to my cave, with a heart full, even to oppres- 
sion, of its happiness, I knew no other relief to 
my overcharged feelings, than that of throwing my- 
self on my knees, and, for the first time in my 
life, uttering a prayer, that if, indeed, there were 
a Being who watched over mankind, he would send 
down one ray of his truth into my soul, and make 
it worthy of the blessings, both here and hereafter, 
proffered to me! 

My days now rolled on in a perfect dream of 
happiness. Every hour of the morning was wel- ! 
corned, as bringing nearer and nearer the blest 


159 


time ot s.unset, when the Hermit and Aietlie never 
failed to pay their visit to my now charmed cave, 
where her smile left a light, at each parting, that 
lasted till her return. Then, our rambles, by 
star-light, over the mountain* — our pauses, on the 
way, to contemplate the bright wonders of that 
heaven above us; — our repose by the cistern of 
the rock, and our silent listening, through hours 
that seemed minutes, to the holy eloquence of our 
teacher; — all, all was happiness of the most heart- 
felt kind, and, such as even the doubts, the cold, 
lingering doubts, that still hung, like a mist, 
around my heart, could neither cloud nor chill. 

When the moonlight nights returned, we used 
to venture into the desert; and those sands, which 
but lately had appeared to me so desolate, now 
wore even a cheerful and smiling aspect. To 
the light, innocent heart of Alethe every thing 
was a source of enjoyment. For her, even the 
desert had its jewels and flowers; and, sometimes, 
her delight was to search among the sands for 
those beautiful pebbles of jasper that abound in 
them; — sometimes, her eyes sparkled on finding, 
perhaps, a stunted marigold, or one of those bitter, 
scarlet flowers,, that lend their mockery of orna- 
ment to the desert. In all these pursuits and 
pleasures the good Hermit took a share, — mingling 
with them occasionally the reflections of a benevo- 
lent piety, that lent its own cheerful hue to all the 
works of creation, and saw the consoling truth 
“God is Love,” written legibly every where. 

Such was, for a few weeks, my blissful life. 
Oh mornings of hope, oil nights of happiness, with 
what mournful pleasure do I retrace your flight, 
and how relunctantly pass to the sad events that 
followed !• 


During this time, in compliance with the wishes 
of Melanius, who seemed unwilling that I should 
become wholly estranged from the world, I occa- 
sionally paid a visit to the neighbouring city, An- 
tinoe, which, as the capital of the Thebaid, is the 
centre of all the luxury of Upper Egypt. Here, — 
so changed was my every feeling by the all-trans- 
forming passion that possessed me, — I wandered, 
unamused and uninterested by either the scenes or 
the people that surrounded me, and, sighing for 
that rocky solitude where Alethe breathed, felt 
this to be the wilderness, and that , the w orld. 

Even the thoughts of my own native Athens, 
that were called up, at every step, by the light, 
Grecian architecture of this imperial city, did not 
aw aken one single regret in my heart — one wish to 
exchange even an hour of my desert for the best j 
luxuries and honours that awaited me in the Gar- 
den. I saw the .arches of triumph;— I w r alked un- 
der the superb portico, which encircles the whole 
city with its marble shade; — I stood in the Circus 
of the Sun, by whose rose-coloured pillars the mys- 
terious movements of the Nile are measured; — all 
these bright ornaments of glory and art, as well as 
the gay multitude that enlivened them, I saw with 
an unheeding eye. If they awakened in me any 
thought, it was the mournful idea, that, one day,, 
like Thebes and Heliopolis, this pageant w ould pass 
away, leaving nothing behind but a few moulder- ■ 
mg ruins, — like the sea-shells found where the 
ocean has been, — to tell that the great tide of Life 
was once there! 

But, though indifferent thus to all that had for- 
merly attracted me, there were subjects, once alien 
to my heart, on which it was now most tremblingly 
alive; and some rumours which had reached me, in 


161 


one of my visits to the city, of an expected change 
in the policy of the Emperor towards the Chris- 
tians, filled me with apprehensions as new as they 
were dreadful to me. 

The peace and even favour which the Christians 
enjoyed, during the first four years of the reign of 
Valerian, had removed from them all fear of a re- 
newal of those horrors, which they had experienced 
under the rule of his predecessor, Decius. Of late, 
however, some less friendly dispositions had mani- 
fested themselves. The bigots of the court, taking 
alarm at the spread of the new faith, had succeeded 
in filling the mind of the monarch with that reli- 
gious jealousy, which is the ever-ready parent of 
cruelty and injustice. Among these counsellors of 
evil was Macrianus, the Praetorian Prefect, who 
was by birth an Egyptian, and — so akin is super- 
stition to intolerance — had long made himself no- 
torious by his addiction to the dark practices of de- 
mon-worship and magic. 

From this minister, who was now high in the fa- 
vour of Valerian, the expected measures of severity 
against the Christians, it was supposed, would 
emanate. All tongues, in all quarters, were busy 
with the news. In the streets, in the public gar- 
dens, on the steps of the temples, I saw, every 
where, groups of inquirers collected, and heard the 
name of Macrianus upon every tongue. It was 
dreadful, too, to observe, in the countenances of 
those who spoke, the variety of feeling with which 
the rumour was discussed, according as they de- 
sired or dreaded its truth, — according as they were 
likely to be among the torturers or the victims. 

Alarmed, though still ignorant of the whole ex- 
tent of the danger, I hurried back to the ravine, 
#nd, going at once to the grotto of Melanius, de- 
o 2 


162 


tailed to him every particular of the intelligence 1 
had collected. He heard me with a composure, 
which I mistook, alas, for confidence in his secu- 
rity; and, naming the hour for our evening walk, 
retired into his grotto. 

At the accustomed time, Alethe and he were at 
my cave. It was evident that he had not commu- 
nicated to her the intelligence which I had brought, 
for never did brow wear such a happiness as that, 
which now played round hers; — it was, alas, not 
of this earth! Melanius, himself, though composed, 
was thoughtful; — and the solemnity, almost ap- 
proaching to melancholy, with which he placed the 
hand of Alethe in mine — in the performance, too, 
of a ceremony that ought to have filled my heart 
with joy — saddened and alarmed me. This cere- 
mony was our betrothment, — the plighting of our 
faith to each other, — which we now solemnized on 
the rock before the door of my cave, in the face of 
that sunset heaven, with its one star standing as 
witness. After a blessing from the Hermit on our 
spousal pledge, I placed the ring, — the earnest of 
our future union — on her finger, and, in the blush, 
with which she surrendered her whole heart to me 
at that instant, forgot every thing but my happi- 
ness, and felt secure, even against fate ! 

We took our accustomed walk over the rocks 
and on the desert. The moon was so bright, — 
like the daylight, indeed, of other climes — that we 
could see, plainly, the tracks of the w ild antelopes 
in the sand; and itwa*s not without a slight tremble 
of feeling in his voice, as if some melancholy ana- 
logy occurred to him as he spoke, that the good Her- 
mit said, 64 1 have observed in my walks, that 
wherever the track of that gentle animal is seen, 
there is, almost always the foot-print of a beast of 


163 


prey near it.” He regained, however, Iris usual 
cheerfulness before we parted, and fixed the fol- 
lowing evening for an excursion, on the other side 
of the ravine, to a point, looking, he said, “ to- 
wards that northern region of the desert, where the 
hosts of the Lord encamped in their departure out 
of bondage.” 

Though, in the presence of Alethe, my fears, 
even for herself, were forgotten in that perpetual 
element of happiness, which encircled her like the 
air that she breathed, no sooner was I alone than 
vague terrors and bodings crowded upon me. In 
vain did I try to reason myself out of my fears by 
dwelling on the most cheering circumstances, — ■ 
the reverence with which Melanius was regarded, 
even by the Pagans, and the inviolate security 
with which he had lived through the most perilous 
periods, not only safe himself, but affording sanc- 
tuary in his grottos to others. When, somewhat 
calmed by these considerations, I sunk off to sleep, 
dark, horrible dreams took possession of my mind. 
Scenes of death and of torment passed confusedly 
before me, and when I awoke, it was with the 
fearful impression that all these horrors were real. 


CHAP. XIX. 

At length the day dawned, — that dreadful day. 
Impatient to be relieved from my suspense, I threw 
myself into uny boat, — the same in which we had 
performed our happy voyage, — and, as fast as 
oars could speed me, hurried away to the city. I 
found the suburbs silent and solitary, but, as I ap- 
proached th<* Forum, loud yells, like those of bar- 


164 


barians in combat, struck on my ear, and, when I 
entered it, — great, God what a spectacle presented 
itself! The imperial edict against the Christians 
had arrived during the night, and already the wild 
fury of bigotry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the Forum, 
was the tribunal of the Governor. Two statues, 
one of Apollo, the other of Osiris, stood at the bot- 
tom of the steps that led up to his judgment-seat. 
Before these idols were shrines, to which the de- 
voted Christians were dragged from all quarters 
by the soldiers and mob, and there compelled to 
recant, by throwing incense into the flame, or, on 
their refusal, hurried away to torture or death. 
It was an appalling scene; — the consternation, the 
cries of some of the victims, — “he pale silent reso- 
lution of others; — the fierce shouts of laughter that 
broke from the multitude, when the frank-incense, 
dropped on the altar, proclaimed some denier of 
Christ; and the fiend-like triumph with which the 
courageous Confessors, who avowed their faith, 
were led away to the flames;-— never could I have 
conceived such an assemblage of horrors! 

Though I gazed but for a few minutes, in those 
minutes I felt enough for years. Already did the 
form of Alethe flit before me through that tumult; 
— 1 heard them shout her name; — her shriek fell 
on my ear; and the very thought so palsied me 
with terror, that I stood fixed and statue-like on 
the spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful preciousness 
of every moment, and that, — perhaps, at this very 
instant — some emissaries of blood might be on 
their way to the grottos, I rushed wildly out of 
the Forum and made my way to the quay. 

The streets were now crowded; but I ran head- 


165 


long through the multitude, and was already un- 
der the portico leading down to the river,— already 
saw the boat that was to bear me to Alethe, — when 
a Centurion stood sternly in my path, and I was 
surrounded and arrested by soldiers! It was in 
vain that I implored, that I struggled with them 
as for life, assuring them that I was a stranger, — that 
I was an Athenian, — that I was — not a Christian. 
The precipitation of my flight was sufficient evi- 
dence against me, and unrelentingly, and by force, 
they bore me away to the quarters of their Chief. 

It was enough to drive me to madness! Two 
hours, two frightful hours, was I kept waiting the 
arrival of the Tribune of their legion,* — my brain 
burning with a thousand fears and imaginations, 
which every passing minute made more likely to 
be realised. Every thing, too, that I could collect 
from the conversations around me, but added to 
the agonising apprehensions with which I was 
racked. Troops, it was said, had been sent in all 
directions through the neighbourhood, to bring in 
the rebellious Christians; and make them bow be- 
fore the Gods of the Empire. With horror, too, I 
heard of Orcus,— Orcus the High Priest of Memphis, 
— as one of the principal instigators of this sanguin- 
ary edict, and as here present in Antinoe, animating 
and directing its execution. 

In this state of torture I remained till the arri- 
val of the Tribune. Absorbed in my own thoughts, 
I had not perceived his entrance; — till, hearing a 
voice, in a tone of friendly surprise, exclaim, “ Al- 
ciphron!” I looked up, and in this legionary Chief 
recognized a young Roman of rank, who had held 
a military, command, the year before, at Athens, 


* A rank, resembling that of Colonel. 


166 


and was one of the most distinguished visiters of 
the Garden. It was no time, however, for courte- 
sies; — he was proceeding with cordiality to greet 
me, but, having heard him order my instant re- 
lease, I could wait for no more. Acknowledging 
his kindness but by a grasp of the hand, I Hew off, 
like one frantic, through the streets, and in a few 
minutes, was on the river. 

My sole hope had been to reach the grottos be- 
fore any of the detached parties should arrive, 
and, by a timely flight across the desert, rescue, 
at least, Alethe from their fury. The ill-fated de- 
lay that had occurred rendered this hope almost 
desperate; but the tranquillity I found every where 
as I proceeded down the river, and the fond confi- 
dence I still cherished in the- sacredness of the 
Hermit’s retreat, kept my heart from giving way 
altogether under its terrors. 

Between the current and my oars the boat flew, 
like wind, along the waters; and I was already 
near the rocks of the ravine, when I saw, turning 
out of the canal into the river, a barge crowded 
with people, and glittering with arms! How did I 
ever survive the shock of that sight? The oars 
dropped, as if struck out of my hand, into the wa- 
ter, and I sat, helplessly gazing, as that terrific 
vision approached. In a few minutes, the current 
brought us together; — and I saw, on the deck of 
the barge, Alethe and the Hermit surrounded by 
soldiers ! 

We were already passing each other when with a 
desperate effort, I sprang from my boat and lighted 
upon the edge of their vessel. I knew not what 
I did, for despair was my only prompter. Snatch- 
ing at the sword of one of the soldiers, as I stood 
tottering on the edge, I had succeeded in wrest- 


167 


ing it out ol his hands, when, at the same moment, 
I received a thrust of a lance from one of his com- 
rades, and fell backward into the river. I can just 
remember rising again and making a grasp at the 
side of the vessel; — but the shock, the faintness 
from my wound, deprived me of all consciousness, 
and a shriek from Alethe, as I sunk, is all I can 
recollect of what followed. 

Would I had then died!— -Yet, no, Almighty 
Being, — I should have died in darkness, and I 
have lived to know Thee! 

On returning tQ my senses, I found myself re- 
clined on a couch, in a splendid apartment, the 
whole appearance of which being Grecian, I for a 
I moment, forgot all that had passed, and imagined 
I myself in my own home at Athens. But too soon 
the whole dreadful certainty flashed upon me; and, 

1 starting wildly, disabled as I was — from my couch, 
I called loudly, and with the shriek of a maniac, 
on Alethe. 

1 was in the house, I found, of my friend and 
disciple, the young Tribune, who had made the 
! Governor acquainted with my name and condition, 
and had received me under his roof, when brought, 
bleeding and insensible, to Antinoii. From him 
I now learned at once, — for I could not wait for 
details, — the sum of all that had happened in 
that dreadful interval. Melanius was no more, — 
Alethe, still alive, but in prison! 

6 4 Take me to her” — I had but time to say — 
“take me to her instantly, and let me die by her 
i side,” — when, nature again failing under such 
shocks, I relapsed into insensibility. In this state 
I continued for near an hour, and, on recovering, 
found the Tribune by my side. The horrors, he 
said, of the Forum were, for that day, over, — but 


168 


What the morrow might bring, lie shuddered to 
contemplate. His nature, it was plain, revolted 
from the inhuman duties in which he was engaged. 
Touched by the agonies he saw me sutler, he, in 
some degree, relieved them, by promising that I 
should, at night-fall, be conveyed to the prison, 
and, if possible, through his influence, gain access 
to Alethe. She might yet, he added, be saved, 
could I succeed in persuading her to comply with 
the terms of the edict, and make sacrifice to the 
Gods. — 44 Otherwise,” said he, 44 there is no hope; 
the vindictive Qrcus, who has 4 resisted even this 
short respite of mercy, will, to-morrow, inexorably 
demand his prey.” 

He then related to me, at my own request,— 
though every word was torture, — all the harrow- 
ing details of the proceeding before the Tribunal. 
44 1 have seen courage,” said he, 44 in its noblest 
forms, in the field; but the calm intrepidity with 
which that aged Hermit endured torments — which 
it was hardly less torment to witness — surpassed 
all that I could have conceived of human forti- 
tude!” 

My poor Alethe, too, — in describing to me her 
conduct, the brave man wept like a child. Over- 
whelmed, he said, at first by her apprehensions for 
my safety, she had given way to a full burst of 
womanly weakness. But no sooner was she brought 
before the Tribunal, and the declaration of her 
faith was demanded of her, than a spirit almost 
supernatural seemed to animate her whole form. 
44 She raised her eyes,” said he, 44 calmly, but with 
fervour, to heaven, while a blush was the only sign 
of mortal feeling on her features;— and the clear, 
sweet, and untrembling voice, with which she 
pronounced her dooming words, 4 1 am a Christian !’ 


169 


sent a thrill of admiration and pity throughout 
the multitude. Her youth, her lovliness, affected 
all hearts, and a cry of ‘Save the young maiden!’ 
was heard in all directions.” 

The implacable Orcus, however, would not hear 
of mercy. Resenting, as it appeared, with all his 
deadliest rancour, not only her own escape, from 
his toils, but the aid with which, so fatally to his 
views, she had assisted mine, he demanded loudly, 
and in the name of the insulted sanctuary of Isis, 
her instant death. It was but by the firm inter- 
vention of the Governor, who shared the general 
sympathy in her fate, that the delay of another 
day was accorded, to give a chance to the young 
maiden of yet recalling her confession, and thus 
affording some pretext for saving her. 

Even in yielding reluctantly to this brief respite, 
the inhuman Priest would accompany it with some 
mark of his vengeance. Whether for the pleasure 
(observed the Tribune) of mingling mockery with 
his cruelty, or as a warning to her of the doom she 
must ultimately expect, he gave orders that there 
should be tied round her brow one of those chap- 
lets of coral,* with which it is the custom of 
young Christian maidens to array themselves on 
the day of their martyrdom ; — “ and, thus fearfully 
adorned,” said he, “ she was led away, amid the 
gaze of, the pitying multitude, to prison.” 

With these details the short interval till night- 
fall, — every minute of which seemed an age, — was 
occupied. As soon as it grew dark, I was placed 
upon a litter— my wound, though not dangerous, 

* “ Une de ces conronnes de grain de corail, dont Ies 
viergcs martyres omoient leurs cheveaux en allant d la 
mort. Les Martyrs. 


v 


170 


requiring such a conveyance, — and conducted under 
the guidance of my friend, to the prison. Through 
his interest with the guard, we were without diffi- 
culty admitted, and I was borne into the chamber 
where the maiden lay immured. Even the veteran 
guardian of the place, seemed touched with com- 
passion for his prisoner, and supposing her to be 
asleep, had the litter placed gently near her. 

She was half reclining, with her face hid in her 
hands, upon a couch, — at the foot of which stood 
an idol, over whose hideous features a lamp of 
naptha, hanging from the ceiling, shed a wild and 
ghastly glare. On a table before the image stood 
a censer, with a small vessel of incense beside it, 
— one grain of which, thrown voluntarily into the 
flame, would, even now, save that precious life. 
So strange, so fearful was the whole scene, that I 
almost doubted its reality. Alethe! my own, hap- 
py Alethe! can it, I thought, be thou that I look 
upon? 

She now, slowly and with difficulty, raised her 
head from the couch; on observing which, the kind 
Tribune withdrew, and we were left alone. There 
was a paleness, as of death, over her features; and 
those eye^, which when last I saw them, were but too 
bright, too happy for this world, looked dim and 
sunken. In raising herself up, she put her hand, 
as if from pain, to her forehead, whose marble 
hue but appeared more death-like from those red 
bands that lay so awfully across it. 

Alter wandering vaguely for a minute, her eyes 
rested upon me,— and, with a shriek, half terror, 
half joy, she sprung from the couch, and sunk 
upon her knees by my side. She had believed 
me dead; and, even now, scarcely trusted her 
senses. 


1 71 


** My husband! my love!” she exclaimed; 44 oh, 
if thou comest to call me from this world, behold, 
I am ready!” In saying thus, she pointed wildly 
to that ominous wreath, and then dropped her 
head down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 
pierced it. 

44 Alethe!” — I cried, terrified to the very soul 
by that mysterious pang, — and the sound of my 
voice seemed to reanimate her; — she looked up, 
with a faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, 
which had evidently been wandering, become col- 
lected; and in her joy at my safety, her sorrow at my 
suffering, she forgot wholly the fate that impended 
over herself. Love, innocent love, alone occupied 
all her thoughts; and the tenderness with which 
she spoke, — oh, at any other moment, how I would 
have listened, have lingered upon, have blessed 
every word! 

But the time flew fast — the dreadful morrow 
was approaching. Already I saw her writhing in 
the hands of the torturer, — the flames, the racks, 
the wheels were before my eyes ! Half frantic with 
the fear that her resolution was fixed, I flung my- 
self from the litter, in an agony of weeping, and 
supplicated her, by the love she bore me, by the 
happiness that awaited us, by her own merciful 
God, who was too good to require such a sacri- 
fice, — by all that the most passionate anxiety 
could dictate, I implored that she would avert 
from us the doom that was coming, and — but for 
once-— comply with the vain ceremony demanded 
of her. 

Shrinking from me, as I spoke, — but with a look 
more of sorrow than reproach , — 4 4 What, thou, 
too!” she said mournfully, 44 thou, into whose spi- 
rit I had fondly hoped the same heavenly truth had 


172 


descended as into^ my own ! Oh, be not thou 
leagued with those who would tempt me to 4 make 
shipwreck of my faith!’ Thou, who couldst alone 
bind me to life, use not thy power; but let me 
die, as He I ’serve hath commanded, — die for the 
Truth. Remember the holy lessons we heard on 
those nights, those happy nights, when both the 
Present and Future smiled upon us, — when even 
the gift of eternal life came more welcome to my 
soul, from the blessed conviction that thou wert to 
be a sharer in it; — shall I forfeit now that divine 
privilege? shall I deny the true God, whom we 
then learned to love? 

“No, my own betrothed,” she continued,-— 
pointing to the two rings on her finger, — “behold 
these pledges, — they are both sacred. I should 
have been as true to thee as I am now to heaven, 
— nor in that life to which I am hastening shall 
our love be forgotten. Should the baptism of fire, 
through which I shall pass to-morrow, make me 
worthy to be heard before the throne of Grace, I 
will intercede for thy soul — I will pray that it may 
yet share with mine that 4 inheritance, immortal 
and undefiled,’ which Mercy offers, and that thou, 
— my dear mother, — and I — ” 

She here dropped her voice; the momentary 
animation, with which devotion and affection had 
inspired her, vanished; — and a darkness over- 
spread all her features, a livid darkness, — like the 
coming of death — that made me shudder through 
every limb. Seizing my hand convulsively, and 
looking at me with a fearful eagerness, as if anx- 
ious to hear some consoling assurance from my 
own lips, — 44 Believe me,” she continued, 44 not 
all the torments they are preparing for me, — not 
even this deep, burning pain in my brow, which 


173 


they will hardly equal, —could be half so dreadful 
to me, as the thought that I leave thee — ” 

Here, her voice again failed; her head sunk 
upon my arm, and — merciful God, let me forget 
what I then felt, — I saw that she was dying! Whe- 
ther I uttered any cry, I know not; — but the Tri- 
bune came rushing into the chamber, and, looking 
on the maiden, said, with a face full of horror, “It 
is but too true!” 

He then told me in a low voice, what he had 
. just learned from the guardian of the prison, that 
the band round the young Christian’s brow was — 
oh horrible cruelty! — a compound of the most 
deadly poison, — the hellish invention of Orcus, to 
satiate his vengeance, and make the fate of his poor 
t victim secure. My first movement was to untie 
! that fatal wreath, — but it would not come away — 

[ it would not come away! 

Roused by the pain, she again looked in my face; 
but, unable to speak, took hastily from her bosom 
the small silver cross which she had brought with 
her from my cave. Having prest it to her own 
lips, she held it anxiously to mine, and seeing me 
kiss the holy symbol with fervour, looked happy, 
and smiled. The agony of death seem to have 
passed away; — there came suddenly over her fea- 
tures a heavenly light, some share of which I felt 
, descending into my own soul, and, in a few mi- 
nutes more, she expired in my arms. 


p 2 


174 


Here ends the Manuscript; but , on the outer cover 
there is, in the hand-writing of a much later pe- 
riod, the following Notice, extracted, as it ap- 
pears, from some Egyptian Martyrology : — 

44 Alciphron, — an Epicurean philosopher, con- 
verted to Christianity a. d. 257, by a young Egyp- 
tian maiden, who suffered martyrdom in that year. 
Immediately upon her death he betook himself to 
the desert, and lived a life, it is said, of much ho- 
liness and penitence. During the persecution un- 
der Dioclesian, his sufferings for the faith were 
most exemplary; and, being at length, at an ad- 
vanced age, condemned to hard labour, for refus- 
ing to comply with an Imperial edict, he died at 
the brass mines of Palestine, a. d. 297. 

“ As Alciphron held the opinions maintained 
since by Arius, his memory has not been spared 
by Athanasian writers, who, among other charges, 
accuse him of having been addicted to the super- 
stitions of Egypt. For this calumny, however, 
there appears to be no better foundation than a cir- 
cumstance, recorded by one of his brother monks, 
that there was found, after his death, a small metal 
mirror, like those used in the ceremonies of Isis, 
suspended round his neck.” 


NOTES. 


. P . a g e 16.-- For the importance attached to dreams by the 
ancients, see Jortin , Remarks on ecclesiastical History 
vol. 1. p. 90. 

Page 19. — “ The Pillar of Pillars ” — more properly, per- 
haps, « the column of the pillars.” v. Abdallatif Relation 
de l’Egypte, and the notes of M. de Sacy. The great por- 
tico round this column (formerly designated Pompey’s, but 
now known to have been erected in honour of Diocle- 
eian) was still standing, M. de Sacy says, in the time of 
Saladin. v. Lord Valentin's Travels. 

Page 20. — Ammianus thus speaks of the state of Alex- 
andria in his time, which was, I believe, as late as the end 
of the fourth century : — “ Ne nunc quidem in eadeni urbe 
Doctrin® variae silent, non apud nos exaruit Musica nec 
Harmonia conticuit.” Lib. 22. 

Page 21.— From the character of the features of the 
Sphinx, and a passage in Hqrodotus, describing the Egyp- 
tians as fjniKay%p its xu/ cu\orptxtc, Volney, Bruce, and a 
few others, have concluded that the ancient inhabitants 
of Egypt were negroes. But this opinion is contradicted 
by a host of authorities. See “ eastern’s notes upon 
Browne’s Travels , for the resuet of Blumebacbrs dissection 
of a variety of mummies. Denon, speaking of the char- 
acter of the heads represented in the ancieAt sculpture and 
painting of Egypt, says “ Celle des femmes ressemble en- 
core a la figure des jolies femmes d’aujourd’hui : de la ron- 
deur, de la volupte, le nez petit, les yeux longs, peu ou- 
verts,” &c. &c. He could judge, too he says, from the fe- 
male mummies, “ que leurs cheveux etoient longs et lisses, 
que le «aractere de tete de la plupart tenoit du beau style” 
— “ Je raportai,” he adds, “ une tete de vieille femme qui 
dtoit aussi belle que celles de Michel Ange, et leur ressem- 
bloit beaucoup.” 

In a ” Description generate de Thebes” by Messrs. Jollois 


et Desvilliers, they say, “Toutes les sculptures Egyptipfi^ 
lies, depuis les plus grands colosses de Thebes jusqu’aux 
plus petites idoles, lie rappellent en aucune maniere les 
traits de la figure des negres ; outre que les t6tes des rao- 
mies des catacombs de Thebes presentent des profils droits.” 
See also M. Jomard's “ Description of Syene and the Ca- 
taracts,” Baron Larrey , on the “ conformation physique” of 
tlie Egyptians, &c. 

De Pauw, the great depredator of every thing Egyp- 
tian, has, on the authority of a passage in iElian, presumed 
to affix to the countrywomen of Cleopatra, the stigma of 
complete and unredeemed ugliness. The following line of 
Euripides, however, is an answer to such charges : — 

N tthou /uev ctiS'i K'/.\\i7retftivoi poau. 

v In addition to the celebrated instances of Cleopatra, Rho- 
dope, &c. we are told, on the authority of Manetho (as 
given by Zoega from Georgius Syncellus,) of a beautiful 
queen of Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, who, in 
addition to other charms and perfections, was (rather in- 
consistently with the negro hypothesis) %a.v$n ?#v ^o;ov. 

See, for a tribute to the beauty of the Egyptian wo- 
men, Montesquieu’s Temple de Guide. 

Page 26. — “ Among beds of lotus-flower l$.” — v. Strabo. 

Page 27. — u Isle of the golden Venus.” — •“ On trouve une 
ile appellee Venus-Doree, ou le champ d’or avor de remon- 
ter jasqu’a Memphis.” Voyages de Pyihagore. 

Page 28. — For an account of the Table of Emerald, v. 
Lettres sur VOrigine des Dieux d’Egypte. De Pauw sup- 
poses it to be a. modern fiction of tlie Arabs. Many wri- 
ters have fancied that the art of making gold, was the great 
secret that lay hid under the forms of Egyptian theology. 
“ La science Hermetique,” says the Benectine, Pernetz, “ Part 
sacerdotal doit la source de toutes les richesses des Rois 
d’Egypte, et l’objet de ces mysteres si caches sous le voile 
du lour pretendu Religion.” Fables Egyptiennes. The 
hieroglyphs, that formerly covered the Pyramids, are sup- 
posed by some of these writers to relate to the same art. 
See Mutus liber , Rupellce. 

Page 29 — « By reflecting the sun’s' rays,” says Clarke , 


1 77 


speaking of the Pyramids, « they appeared white as snow." 

Page 30.— For Bubastis, the Diana of the Egyptians, v. 
Jablonski, lib. 3. c. 4. 

Page 31. — “ The light coracle,” &c.— v. Amailhon, “ His- 
toire de la Navigation et du Commerce des Egypt iens sons les 
Ptolemies” See also, for a description of the various 
kinds of boats used on the Nile, Maillet , tom. i. p. 98. 

Ib.— v. Maurice , Appendix to “Ruins of Babylon.” 
Another reason, he says, for their worship of the Ibis, 
“founded on their love of geometry, was (according to 
Plutarch) that the space between its legs, when parted 
asunder, as it walks, together with its beak, forms a com- 
plete equilateral triangle. From the examination of the 
embalmed birds found in the Catacombs of Sacarra, there 
seems to be no doubt that the Ibis was the same kind of 
bird as that described by Bruce, under the Arabian name 
' of Abou Hannes. 

Page 32. — “ The Sistrum , &c. — “Isis est genius,” says 
Servius, “iEgypti, qui per sistri motum, quod geritin dextra, 
Nili accessus recessusque significat.” 

Page 34. — “ The ivy encircled it” &c. — The Ivy was con- 
secrated to Osiris, v. Diodor. Sic. 1. 10. 

Ib. — “ The small mirror.” — “ Quelques unes,” says Du- 
puis, describing the processions of Isis, “ portoient des mi- 
roirs attaches a leurs epaules, afin de multiplier et de por- 
ter dans tous les sens les images de la D£esse.” Origine 
des Cultes, tom. 8. p. 847. A mirror, it appears, was also 
one of the emblems in the mysteries of Bacchus. 

Ib. — There is, to the north of Memphis,” &c. — ■“ Tout 
prouve que la terretoire de Sakkarah etoit la Necropolis au 
sud de Memphis, et le faubourg oppose a celui-ci, ou sont 
les pyramides de Gizeh, une autre Ville des Morts, qui 
terminoit Memphis au nord.” Denon. 

There is nothing known with certainty as to the site of 
Memphis, but it will be perceived that the description of its 
position, given by the Epicurean corresponds, in almost 


every particular, with that which M. Maillet (the Frehch 
consul, for many years at Cairo) has left us. It must be al- 
ways borne in mind, too, that of the distances between the 
respective places here mentioned, we have no longer any 
accurate means of judging. 

Page 35. — u Pyramid beyond pyramid Multas olim 
pyramidas fuisse e ruinis arguitur.” Zoega. — Vansleb, .who 
visited more than ten of the small pyramids, is of opinion 
that there must have originally been a hundred in this 
place. 

See, for the lake to the northward of Memphis, Shaw's 
Travels , p. 302. 

Page 39.— u The Theban beetle “ On Voit en Egypte, 
apres la retraite du Nil et la fecondation des terres, le limon 
couvert d’ une multitude de scarabees. Un pared phenom- 
ene a du sembler aux Egyptiens le plus propre a peindre 
une nouvelle existence.” M. Joinard. — Partly for the 
same reason, and partly for another, still more fanciful, the 
early Christians used to apply this emblem to Christ. 
“Bonus ille scarabseus meus,” says St. Augustine, “ non ea 
tantum de causa quod uqigenitus, quod ipsemet sui auctor 
mortalium speciem induerit, sed quod in hac nostra foece 
sese volutaverit et ex hac ipsa nasci voluerit.” 

Ib. — ■“ Enshrined within a case of crystal .” — “ Les Egyp- 
tiens ont fait aussi, pour conserver leurs morts, des caisses 
de vcrre.” De Pauw. — He mentions in another place, a 
sort of transparent substance, which the Ethiopians used 
for the same purpose, and which was frequently mistaken 
by the Greeks for glass. 

Ib. — “ Among the emblems of death.” — “ Un pretre, qui 
brise la tige d’une fleur, des oiseaux qui s’envolcnt sont les 
emblemes de la morte et de Fame qui se separe du corps.” 
Denon. 

Theseus employs the same image in the Phcedra 
Opvts yap us rts m X*?™ a^owaos u 
isaJ'ov 7rMpjV opfxncraaa fast. 

Page 40. — “ The singular appearance of a Cross, so fre,- 
quently recurring among the hieroglyphics of Egypt, 


i:9 


had excited the curiosity of the Christians at a very early 
period of ecclesiastical history ; and as some of the Priests, 
who were acquainted with the meaning of the hierogly- 
phics, became converted to Christianity the secret transpired. 
4 The converted heathens,’ says Sacrates Scholasticus, ‘ ex- 
plained the symbol, and declared that it signified Life to 
Come.’ ” Clarke. 

Lipsius, therefore, erroneously supposes the Cross to 
have been an emblem peculiar to the Christians. See, on 
this subject, L’ His loir e desJuifs, liv. 9. c. 16. 

It is singular enough that while the Cross was held sa- 
cred among the Egyptians, not only the custom of ^nark- 
ing the forehead with the sign of the Cross, but Baptism 
and the consecration of the bread in the Eucharist were 
imitated in the mysterious ceremonies of Mithra. Tcrtull 
de Proscriptione Hereticorum . 

Zoega is of opinion that the Cross .found (for the first 
time, it is said) on the destruction of the temple of Scra- 
pis, by the Christians, could have not been the crux ansata ; 
as nothing is more common than this emblem on all the 
Egyptian monuments. 

Page 41 . — w Stood shadowlcss .” It was an idea entertain- 
ed among the ancients that the Pyramids were so construct- 
ed (“ mecanica constriictione,” says Amianus Marcellinus') 
as never to cast any shadow. 

Page 42. — “Rhodope.” From the story of Rhodope, 
Zoega thinks, “ videntcr Arabes ansam arripuisse ut in una 
ex pyramidibus, genii loco, habitare dicererxt mulierem nu- 
dam insignis pulchritudinis qua? aspectu suo homines in- 
sanire facit.” — De Usu Obeliscorum. See also, L'Egypte de 
Murladi par Vattier. 

Page 43. — “ The Gates of Oblivion.” Apud Memphim 
senas quasdam portas, qua? Lethes et Cocyti (hoc est obli- 
vionis et lamentationis) appellenter aperiri, gravem asper- 
umque edentes sonum.” Zoega. 

Page 45. — “ A file of lifeless bodies” See, for the custom 
of burying the dead upright (“ post, funnus stantia busto 
copora,” as Statius describes it,) Dr. Clarke’s preface to 
the 2d section of his fifth volume. They used to insert 
precious stones in the place of the eyes. “ Lcs yeux etoi- 


180 


ent formes d’emeraudes, de turquoises,” Sic. v. Masoudy, 
quoted by Quatremere. 

Page 47. — “ It seemed as if every echo” See, for the 
echoes in the pyramids, Plutarch , de Placitis Philosoph. 

Page 48.—“ Pale phantom-like shapes .” “ Ce moment j 
heureux (de l’Autopsie) etoit prepare par des scenes effray- I 
antes, par des alternatives de crainte et de joie, de lumin- 
ere et des tenebres, par la lueur des eclairs, par le bruit ter- 
rible de la foudre, qu’on imitoit, et par des apparitions de 
spectres, des illusions magiques, qui frappoient les yeux et 
les oreilles tout ensemble. Dupuis. 

Page 50. — “ Serpents of fire. “ Ces considerations me 
portent a penser que, dans les mysteres, ces phdnomenes 
etoient beaucoup mieux executees et sans comparison plus 
terribles a l’aide de quelque composition pyrique, qui est l 
restee caehee, comme celle du feu Gregeois. De Pauw. 

Ib. — “ The burning of the reed-beds of Ethiopia. “ II 
n’y a point d’autre moyen que de porter le feu dans ces 
forets de roseaux, qui rependent alors dans toat le pais une 
lumiere aussi considerable que celle du jour meme. ; 
Maillet , tom. 1 . p. 63. 

Page 51. — ■“ The sound of torrents.”- The Nile, Pliny tells ! 
us, was admitted into the Pyramid. 

Page 52. — “ I had almost given myself up.” — “ On exer- I 
coit;” says Dupuis, “ les recipiendaires, pendant plusieurs : 
jours, a traverser, a la nage, une grande 4tendue d’eau. On 
les y jettoit et ce n’etoit que avec peine qu’ ils s’en retiroient. 
On appliquoit le fer et le feu sur leurs membres. On les 
faisoit passer a travers les' flammes.” 

The aspirants were often in considerable danger, and | 
Pythagoras, we are told, nearly lost his life in the trials, 
v. Recherches sur les Initiations, par Robin. 

Page 57.— For the two cups used in the mysteries, see 
L’Histoire des Juifs , liv. 9. c. 16. 

Ib.— “ Osiris ” — Osiris, under the name of Serapis, was 


181 


supposed to rule over the subterranean world ; and per- 
formed the office of Pluto, in the mythology of the Egyp- 
tians. “ They believed,” says Dr. Pritchard, “ that Serapis 
presided over the region of departed souls, during the pe- 
riod of their absence, when languishing without bodies, and 
that the dead were deposited in his palace.” Analysis of 
the Egyptian Mythology. 

Ib. — “ To cool the lips of the dead.” — “ Frigidam illam 
aquam post mortem, tanquam Hebes poculum, expetitam.” 
Zoega. — The Lethe of the Egyptians was called Ameles. 
See Dupuis , tom. 8. p, 651. 

Page 58. — “A draught divine” — Diodor. Sicul. 

Page 59. — “ Grashopper, symbol of initiation” — Hoe. 
Apoll. — The grashopper was also consecrated to the sun 
as being musical. 

Page 59.^--“ Isle of gardens.” — The isle Antirrhodus near 
Alexandria. Maillet. 

Ib.— “ Vineyard at Anthylla” — See Athen. Deipnos. 

Page 61. — “ We can see those stars.” — “ On voyoit en plein 
jour par ces ouvertures les £toiles, et meme quelques plane- 
tes en leur plus grande latitude septentrionale ; et les pr6- 
tres avoient bientot profite de ce phenomene pour observer 
a diverses heures la passage des etoiles.” Sethos. — Strabo 
mentions certain caves or pits constructed for the purpose 
of astronomical observations, which lay in the Zelopolitan 
prefecture, beyond Heliopolis. 

Page 62. — “ A plantain.” — This tree was dedicated to 
the Genii of the Shades, from its being an emblem of re- 
pose and cooling airs. “ Cui imminet musae folium, quod 
ab Iside infara geniisque ei addictis manu geri solitum, un- 
bram requiemque et auras frigidas subindigitare videtur.” 
Zoega. 

Page 66. — “He spoke of the pre-existence of the soul,” &c. 
For a full account of the doctrines which are here represen- 
ted as having been taught to the initiated in the Egyptian 


182 


mysteries, the reader may consult Dupuis , Prichard's Ana- 
lysis of the Egyptian Mythology , Szc. Szc. “ L’on decouvroit 
l’origine de Fame sa chute sur la terre, a travers les spheres 
ct les elemens, et son retour au lieu de sa origine ...... 

c’etoit ici la p-arlie la plus metaphysique, et que ne pour- 
roit guere entendre le conunun des Inities, mais dont on 
lui donnoit le spectacle par des figures et des spectres alle- 
goriques. Dupuis. 

Page 67. — “ Those fields of radiance.''— Sea Benusobre , . 
liv. 3. c. 4. for the “ terre bienheureuse et lumineuse” 
which the Maniclieaus supposed God to inhabit. Plato, 
too, speaks (in Phaed.) of a “ pure land lying in the pure 
sky (guv yw x.u.&a.pxv iv nabapce Kuar&au ovpctvee,) the abode of di- 
vinity, of innocence, and of life. 

Page 68. — “ Tracing it from the first moment of earthward 
desire .” — In the original construction of this work, there was 
an episode introduced here, (which I have since published 
in another form;) illustrating the doctrine of the fall of the 
soul, by the Oriental fable of the Loves of the Angels. 

Page 69. — “ Restoring her lost icings .” Damascius in Iris 
Life of Isadoras, says, “ Ex antiquissimis Philosophis Py- 
thagoram ct Platonem Isidorus ut Deos coluit, et eorum ani- 
mas alatas esse dixit quas in locum supercoelestem inque 
campum veritatis et pratum elevatas, divinis putavit ideis 
pasci. Apud. Phot. Bibliothec. 

Ib. — ■“ A pale , moonlike meteor — Apuleius , in describing 
ther-miraculous appearances exhibited in the mysteries, says. 
“Nocte media vidi solem candido coruscantem lumine.” 
Melamorphos , lib. 11. 

Page 70. — “ So entirely did the illusion of the scene” Sic. 
—In tracing the early connection of spectacles with the 
ceremonies of religion, Voltaire says, “’ll y a bien plus; 
les veritables grandes tragedies, les representations impo- 
santes etterrib!es,etoientlesmysteres sacres, qu’on celebroit 
dans les plus vastes temples du monde, en presence des 
seuls Inities ; c’4toit la que les habits, les decorations, les 
machines £toient propres au sujet; et la sujet etoit la vie 


IBS 


presente et vie future. Des diners changeme?is arrives a 
Vart tragique. 

To these scenic representations in the Egyptian myste- 
ries, there is evidently an allusion in the vision of Ezekiel, 
where the spirit shows him the abominations which the Is- 
raelites learned in Egypt : « Then said he unto me, ‘ Son of 
man, hast thou seen what the ancients of the house of Is- 
rael do in the dark, every man in the chambers of his imaga- 
ry Chap. 8. 

Page 72. — ei The seven tables of stone.” — “ Bernard, comte 
de la Marche Trevisane, instruit • par la lecture des livres 
anciens, dit qu’ Hermes trouva sept tables dans la vallee 
d’Hebron, sur lesquelles etoient graves ies principes des 
arts liberaux.” Fables Egyptiennes. See Jablonski de ste- 
lis Herm. 

Page 73. — ct Beside the goat of Mendes.” — For an account 
of the animal worship of the Egyptians, see De Fame, 
tom. 2. 

Ib. — “ The Isaic serpents .” — “ On auguroit bien des 
serpens Isiaques, lorsqu’ils goutoient Poffrande et se train- 
oient lentement autour de l’autel. De PaUw. 

Page 74. — “ Hence the festivals and hymns ” Sic. — For an 
account of the various festivals at the different periods of 
the sun’s progress, in the spring, and in the autumn, see 
Dupuis and Pritchard. 

Ib. — “ The mysteries of the night.” — v. Athenag. Leg. 
pro Christ, p. 133. 

Page 76. — “ A peal like that of thunder ,” — See, for some 
curious remarks on the mode of imitating thunder and 
lightning, in the ancient mysteries, De Pauw , tom. 1. p. 
323. The machine with which these effects were pro- 
duced on the stage, was called a ceraunoscope. 

Page 79. — “ Windings, capriciously intricate .” — In addi- 
tion to the accounts which the ancients have left us of the 
prodigious excavations in all parts of Egypt, — the fifteen 
hundred chambers under the Labyrinth, the subterranean 


184 


stables of the Thebaid, containing a thousand horses— the 
crypts of Upper Egypt passing under the bed of the Nile, 
&c. &c. — the stories and traditions current among tho 
Arabs still preserve the memory of those wonderful sub- 
structions. “ Un Arabe,” says Paul Lucas, “ qui etoit avec 
nous, m’assura qu’dtant entre autrefois dans le Labyrinthe, 
il avoit marche dans les chambres souterrains jusqu’en un 
lieu ou il y avoit une grande place environnee de plusieurs 
niches qui ressembloit a de petites boutiques, d’ou l’on en- 
troit dans d’autres allees et dans des chambrbs, sans pou- 
voir en trouver la fin. In speaking, too, of the arcades 
along the Nile, near Cosseir, “ Ils me dirent meme que ces 
souterrains £toient si profondes q’uil y en avoient qui alloi- 
ent a trois journees de la, et qu’ils conduisoient dans un 
pays ou l’on voyoit de beaux jar dins, qu’on y trouvoit de 
belles maisons,” &c. &c. 

See also in M. Quatreinere’s Memoires sur P Egypt e, tom. 
1. p. 142, an account of a subterranean reservoir, said to 
have been discovered at Kais, and of the expedition under- 
taken by a party of persons, in a long narrow boat, for the 
purpose of exploring it. “ Leur voyage avoit et6 de six jours, 
dont les quatre premiers furent employes a pen^trer les 
bordes ; les deux autres a revenir au lieu d’ou ils ^toient 
partis : Pendant tout cet intervalle ils ne purent atteindre 
l’extremite du bassin. L’emir Ala-eddin-Tamboga, gou- 
verneur de Beh nesa, ecrivit ces details au sultan, qui en 
fut extremement surpris. 

Page 82. — •“ A small island in the eentre of Lake Mans.” 
— The position here given to Lake Moeris, in making it the 
immediate boundary of the city of Memphis to the south, 
corresponds exactly with the site assigned to it by Mail- 
let : — “ Memphis avoit encore a son midi un vaste reser- 
voir, par ou tout ce qui peut servir a la commodite at a 
l’agr^ment de la vielui etoit voiture abondamment de toutes 
les parties de l’Egypte. Ce lac qui la terminoit de ce cote- 
la,” &c. &c. Tom. 2. p. 7. 

Ib. — “ Ruins rising blackly above the wave .” — “ On voit 
surla rive orientale des antiquites qui sont presque en- 
tierement sous les eauz.” Behoni. 

Hr .— « Its tkiyidering po_rtalsi”-~f« Quontn'dam airtm do- 


185 


morum (in Labyrintho) talis est situs, ut adaperientibus 
foris tonitru intus terribile existat.” Pliny. 

Page 83 — “ Leaves that serve as cups.” — Strabo. Accord- 
ing to the French translator of Strabo, it was the fruit of 
the faba JEgyptiaca , not the leaf, that was used for this 
purpose. “ Le xifiup /ov,” he says, “ devoit s’entbndre 
de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, dont les Egyptiens se 
servoient comme d’un vase, imaginant que l’eau du Nil y 
devenoit delicieuse.” 

Page 85. — “ The fish of these waters ,” 8zc.~JElian, lib. 
6. 32. 

Ib. — “ Pleasure boats or yachts.”— Called Thalamages, 
from the pavilion on the deck. v. Strabo. 

Page 86.— u Covered with beds of those pale, sweet roses.” 
—As April is the season for gathering these roses (See, 
Malte~brun?s Economical Callender , ) the Epicurean could 
not, of course, mean to say that he saw them actually in 
flower. 

Page 87. — “ The lizards upon the bank.” — “L’or et Pazur 
brillent en bands longitudinales sur leur corps entier, et 
leur queue est du plus beau blue celeste.” Sonini. 

Page 88. — “ The canal through which we now sailed .” — 
“ Un canal,” says Maillet , “ tres profound' et tres large y 
voituroit les eaux du Nil.” 

Page 90. — “ For a draught of whose flood,” &c. — ■“ An- 
ciennement on portoit les eaux du Nil jusqu’au des con- 
trecs fort eloignees et surtout chez les princesses du sang 
des Ptolomees, mariees daus des families ^trangeres.” 
De Pauw. 

Page 92.—“ Bearing each the name of its owner.” — “Le 
nom du maitre y etoit ecrit, pendant la nuit en lettres de 
feu.” Maillet. 

Ib. — “ Cups of that frail crystal”— called Alassordes*. 
For their brittleness Martial is an authority 

q2 


186 


Telle, puer, calicos, tepidique toreumata Nili, 

Et mihi secura pocula trada manu. 

Page 92.— u Bracelets of the black beans of Abyssinia.”-- The 
bean of the Glycyne, which is so beautiful as to be strung 
into .necklaces and bracelets, is generally known by the 
name of the black bean of Abyssinia. Niebhur. 

Page 93. — “ Sweet lotus-wood-flule .” — See M. Villoteau oji 
the musical instruments of the Egyptians. 

Ib. — “ Shine like the brow of Mount Atlas at night.” — Soli- 
nus speaks of the snowy summit of Mount Atlas glittering 
with flames at night. In the account of the Periplus of 
Hanno, as well as in that of Eudorus, we read that as those 
navigators were coasting this part of Africa, torrents of 
light were seen to fall on the sea. 

Page 94. — “ The tears of Isis” — •“ Per lacrymas, vero, 
Isidis intelligo effluvia quaedam Lunae, quibus tantam vim 
videntur tribuisse iEgypti.” Jablonski. — He is of opinion 
that the superstition of the Nucta , or miraculous drop, is 
of a relic of the veneration paid to the dews, as the tears of 
Isis. 

Ib. — “ The rustling of the acacias” &;c. — Travels of Cap- 
tain Mangles. 

Ib. — “ Supposed to rest in the valley of the moon.”— Plutarch. 
Dupuis , tom. 10. The Manicheans held the same belief. 
See Beausobre , p. 565. 

Page 95. — “ Sethis , the fair star of the waters .” — t/Sysi tyaycv 
is the epithet applied to this star by Plutarch ^ de Isid. 

Ib. — “Was its birth-star.” — ’H avotroxn ymo-eeec 

x* 'rufXGura tvs as tgv Koapoy. Porphyr , de Autro. Nymph. 

Page 99.—“ Golden Mountains.”— v. Wilford on Egypt 
and the Nile , Asiatic Researches. 

Jbi — SteecHirCdling •y wd*”— “ ’A l’epoque de la crue 1c 


1 87 


jVil Y ert charie les planches (Tun bois qui a une oSeur sefn- 
blable a celle tie l’encens.” Quatremere. 

Page 100. — “ Barges full of bees.'" — Maillet. 

Ib. — “ Such a profusion of the tchite flowers ,” &c. — On les 
voitcomme jadis cuillir dans les champs des tigis du lotus, 
signes du debordement et presages de Tabondance; ils s’en- 
velloppent les bras et le corps avec le6 longues tiges fieuries, 
et parcourent les rues,” &c. Description des Tombeaux des 
Rois , par M. Costas. 

Page 102. — “ While composing his commentary on the scrip - 
iures — It was during the composition of his great critical 
work, the Hexapla, that Origen employed these female 
scribes. 

Page 103. — u That rich tapestry ,” &c. 

Non ego prsetulerim Babylonica picta superbe 
Texta, Semiramia quae variantur acu .—Martial. 

Page 116. — •“ The Place of Weeping.” — v. Wilford , Asiatic 
Researches , vol. 3. p. 340. 

Pago 122. — “ We had long since left this mountain behind .” 
— The voyages on the Nile are, under favourable circum- 
stances, performed with considerable rapidity. “ En cinq ou 
six jours,” says Maillet , “on pourroit aisement remontor de 
l’embouchure du Nil a ses catarates ou dcscendre des cata- 
ractes jusqu’a la mer.” The great uncertainty of the Navi- 
gation is proved by what Belzoni tells us: — “ Nous ne mimes 
cette fois que deux jours et demi pour faire le trajet du Cairo 
a Melawi, auquel, dans notre second voyage, nous aviona 
employes dixhuit jours.” 

Page 123.—“ Those mighty statues , that fling their sha~ 
dows .” — “ Elies ont pres de vingt metres (61 pieds) d’eleva- 
tion ; et au lever du soleil, leurs ombres immenses s’etendent 
au loin sur la chaine Lybyen.” 

Description generate de Thebes, par Messrs. Joillois et Des* 
villiers. 


15.-—“ Tho.se-c.ool dhov.es,” — Paul Lucas. 


183 


Page 127. — u Whose waters are half sweety half bitter. 1 *— 
Paul Lucas. 

p a <re 129. — “ The Mountain of the Birds.” — There has 
been 'much controversy among the Arabian writers, with 
respect to the site of this mountain, for which see Q uatre- 
mere , tom. 1. art. Amoun. 

Page 132. — “ The hand of labour had succeeded ,” kc .— 
The monks of Mount Sinai ( Shaw says) have covered over, 
near four acres of the naked rocks, with fruitful gardens and 
orchards. 

Page 134.--’-“ The image of a head.”— There was usu- 
ally, Tertullian tells us, the image of Christ on the com- 
munion-cups. 

Ib. — “ Kissed her forehead.” — “ We are rather disposed 
to infer,” says the present Bishop of Lincoln, in his very 
sensible work on Tertullian, “ that, at the conclusion of all 
their meetings for the purpose of dvotion, the early Chris- 
tians were accustomed to give the kiss of peace, in token 
of the brotherly love subsisting between them. 

Page 136. — “ In the middle of the seven valleys.” — See, 
Macrizy’s account of these valleys, given by Quatremere, 
tom. 1. p. 450. 

Ib.— “ Red lakes of Nitria .”— For a striking description 
of this region, See “ Ramesses,”— a work which, though, 
in general, too technical and elaborate, shows, in many 
passages, to what picturesque effects the scenery and my- 
thology of Egypt may be made subservient. 

Page 137. — “In the neighbourhood of Antinoe.” — From 
the position assigned to Antinoe in this work, we should 
conclude that it extended much farther to the north, than 
these few ruins of it that remain would seem to indicate ; 
so as to render the distance between the city and the 
Mountain of the Birds considerably less than what it ap- 
pears to be at present. 

Page 139.—“ JFhen Isis the pure star of lovers” v. 
Plutarch de Isid. 

Jb. u Ere she again embrace her hridegrooyn sun. 1 -- 


139 


” Conjunctio soiis cum luna, quod est veluti utriusque 
eonnubiam.” Jablonski. 

Page 142. — u Of his walks a lion is the companion .” — 
M. Chateaubriand has introduced Paul and his lion into 
the “ Martyrs” liv. 11. 

Page 135. — •“ Come thus secretly before day break.” — It 
was among the accusations of Celsus against the Chris- 
tians, that they held their assemblies privately and con- 
trary to law ; and one of the speakers in the curious work 
of Minucius Felix calls the Christians “ latebrosa et luci- 
fugax natio.” 

Page 146. — “ A swallow” &c. — “ Je vis dans le desert 
des hirondelles d’un gris clair comme le sable sur lequel 
elles volent.” — Denon. 

Page 147. — “ The comet that once desolated this world .” — 
In alluding to Whiston’s idea of a comet having caused 
the deluge, M. Girard , having remarked that the word 
Typhen means a deluge, adds “ On ne peut entendre par 
le terns du regne de Typhon que celui pendant lequel le 
deluge in onda la terre, terns pendant lequel on dut obser- 
ver lacomete qui l’occasionna, et dont l’apparition fut, non 
seulement pour les peuples de l’Egypte, et de l’Ethiopie, 
mais encore pour tous les peuples le presage funeste do 
leur destruction presque totale.” Description de la vallee 
de V E’garement. 

Ib. — u In which the spirit of my dream” &c. “ Many 

people,” said Origen , “ have been brought over to Chris- 
tianity by the spirit of God giving a sudden turn to their 
minds, and offering visions to them either by day or night.” 
On this Jortin remarks : — ■“ Why should it be thought im- 
probable that Pagans of good dispositions, but not free 
from prejudices, should have been called by divine admo- 
nitions, by dreams or visions, which might be a support to 
Christianity in those days of distress.” 

Page 150. — “ One of those earthen cups.” — Palladius, who 
lived some time in Egypt, describes the monk Ptolemams, 
who inhabited the desert of Scete, as collecting in earthen 
jcups the abundant dew from the rocks. — Bibliothec. Pat. 
tom. 13. 

151. — ■“ It was to preserve, he said” &c. — The brief sketch 
fiere given of the Jewish dispensation, agrees-, very much, 


190 


with the view taken of it by Dr. Sumner, the present Bishop 
of Llandaff, in the first chapters of his eloquent and lumi- 
nous work, the “ Records of the Creation.” 

Page 152. — “ In vain did I seek the promise of immortality .” 
— “ It is impossible to deny,” says the Bishop of Llandaff, 
41 that the sanctions of the Mosaic Law are altogether tem- 
poral It is, indeed, one of the facts that can only be 

explained, by acknowledging, that he really acted under a 
divine commission, promulgating a temporary law for a pe- 
culiar purpose,”- — a much more candid and sensible way of 
treating this very difficult point, than by either endeavour- 
ing, like Warburton, to escape from it*into a paradox, or 
still worse, contriving, like Dr. Graves, to increase its diffi- 
culty by explanation, v. “ On the Pentateuch See also 
Home's Introduction , &c. vol. 1. p. 226. 

Page 153. — •“ All are of the dust f &c. — While Voltaire, Vol - 
ney, &c. refer to the Ecclesiastes, as abounding with tenets of 
materialism and Epicurism, Mr. Desvoeux and others, find 
in i't, strong proofs of belief in a future state. The chief 
difficulty lies in the chapter from which this text is quoted; 
and the mode of construction by which some writers attempt 
to get rid of it, — namely, by putting these texts into the 
mouth of a foolish reasoner, — appears forced and gratuitous. 
V. Dr. Hale's Analysis. 

Page 1 54. — ■“ The noblest and first created &c. — This opi- 
nion of the Hermit may be supposed to have been derived 
flora his master, Origen; but it is not easy to ascertain the 
exact doctrine of Origen on this subject. In the Treatise 
on Prayer, attributed to him, he asserts that God the Father 
alone, should be invoked, — which, says Bayle, is “ encherir 
sur les Heresies des Sociniens.” Notwithstanding this, 
however, and some other indications of, what was after- 
wards called, Arianism, (such as the opinion of the divini ty 
being received by communication , which Milner asserts to 
have been held by his Father,) Origen was one of the au- 
thorities quoted by Athanasius, in support of his high doc- 
trines of co-eternity and co-essentiality. What Priestly 
says is, perhaps, the best solution of these inconsistencies; 
— ■“ Origen, as well as Clemens Alexandrinus, has been 
thought to favour the Arian principle ; but he did it only in 
words and not in ideas.” Early Opinions , kc. Whatever 
uncertainty, however, there may exist with respect to the 


opinion of Origen himself, on this subject, there is no doubt 
that the doctrines of his immediate followers were, at least, 
Anti-Athanasian. 44 So many Bishops of Africa,” says 
Priestly, “were, at this period (between the year 255 and 
258,) Unitarians, that Athanasius says, 4 The Son of God,’ 
—meaning his divinity, — 4 was scarcely any longer preach- 
ed in the churches.’ ” 

Page 154.— 44 The restoration of the whole human race to 'pu- 
rity arid, happiness” —This benevolent doctrine, — which not 
only goes far to solve the great problem of moral and phy- 
sical evil, but which would, if received more generally, 
tend to soften the spirit of uncharitableness, so fatally pre- 
valent among Christian sects, — was maintained by that 
great light of the early Church, Origen, and has not want- 
ed supporters among more modern Theologians. That 
Tillotson was inclined to the opinion, appears from his ser- 
mon preached before the queen. Paley is supposed to have 
held the same amiable doctrine; and Newton (the author 
of the work on the Prophecies) is also among the supporters 
of it. For a full account of the arguments in favour of this 
opinion, derived both from reason and the express language 
of Scripture, see Dr. Southwood Smith’s very interesting 
work, 44 On the Divine Government.” See also Magee on 
the Atonement , where the doctrine of the advocates of uni- 
versal Restoration is thus briefly and fairly explained : — 
“Beginning with the existence of an infinitely powerful, 
wise, and good Being, as the first and fundamental principle 
of a rational religion, they pronounce the essence of this 
Being to be love , and from this infer, as a demonstrable con- 
sequence, that none of the creatures formed by such a Being, 

will ever be made eternally miserable Since God 

(they say) would act unjustly in inflicting eternal misery 
for temporary crimes, the sufferings of the wicked can be but 
remedial, and will terminate in a complete purification from 
moral disorder, and in their ultimate restoration to virtue 
and happiness. 

Page 155 — 44 Fruits of the desert shrub” — v. Hamilton’ s 
JEgyptiaca. 

Ib. — 44 Glistened over its silver letters” — The Codex Cot- 
tonianus of the New Testament is written in silver letters 
on a purple ground. The Codex Cottonianus of the Sep- 
tuagint version of the Old Testament, is supposed to be the 
identical copy that belonged to Origen, 


■m 

Page 158. — ■“ The white garment she ware , and the ring of 
gold on her finger”-- See, for the custom among the early 
Christians, of wearing white for a few days after baptism, 
Ambros. de Mysl. — With respect to the ring, the Bishop of 
Lincoln says, in his work on Tertullian, “ The natural in- 
ference from these words (Tertull. de Pudicitia) appears to 
be that a ringusedto be given in baptism ; but I have found 
no other trace of such a custom. 

Page 159. — “ Pebbles of jasper .” — v. Clarke. 

Ib. — u Stunted marigold ,” &c. — “ Les Mesembryanthemum 
nodifiorum et Zygophyllum coccineum , plantes grasses des 
deserts, rejetees a cause de leur acrete par les chameaux, 
es chevres, et les gazelles.” M. Delile upon , the Plants of 
Egypt. 

Page 260. — “ Antino'e .” — v. Savary and Qualremere . 

Page 162. — “ I have observed in my walks.” — “ Je remar- 
quai avec une reflexion triste, qu’un animal de nroie aceom- 
pagne presque toujours,les pas de ce joli et fr£le individu.” 

Page 164. “ Some denier of Christ.”— Those Christians 
who sacrificed to idols to save themselv.es, were called by 
various names, Thurrificati, Sacrificaii, Mitentes , Jfega to- 
res, &c. Baronius mentions a hishop of this period (253) 
Marcellinus, who, yielding to the threats of the Gentiles, 
threw incense upon the altar, v. Amob. contra Gent. lib. 7. 

Page 168. — “ The dear voice with which,” &c. — The merit 
of the confession “ Christianus sum,” or “ Christiana sum,” 
was considerably enhanced by the clearness and distinctness 
with which it was pronounced. Eusebius mentions the 
martyr Vetius as making it Ka/u7rpo'rci<Tn qcm. 

Page 173. — “ The band round the young Christian's brow.” 
— W e find poisonous crowns mentioned by Pliny, under the 
designation of “ coronie ferales.” Paschalius, too, gives the 
following account of these “ deadly garlands,” as he calls 
them: — u Sed mirum est tam salutare inventum humanam 
nequitiam reperisse, quomodo ad nefarios usus traducent. 
Nempe, report© sunt nefand© coron© haruin, quas dixi, tam 
salubrium per nomen quidem et speciem imitatrices, at re et 
eflectu ferales, at que adeo capitis, cui iipponuntur, inter- 
fectrices.” De Coronis. 


THE END. 






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